


Dearly Departed

by kenzsza



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018), The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Ghosts, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Paranormal, au where its normal for people to have ancient greek names i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:20:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29223864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzsza/pseuds/kenzsza
Summary: There's a spirit haunting Achilles' home.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Achilles/Patroclus of Opus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Briseis & Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

Achilles had always been one for adventures, but that didn’t make moving to a new town any less scary. It was nothing compared to climbing up tall trees or chasing his friends with sticks in his backyard. Even tumbling off his bike and breaking his arm had been less daunting than this.

His father had been offered a government position in a town a few hours away from their old home. It was an honor, his father had told him gently when Achilles started to object when the subject was brought to his attention for the first time. The job in question was in a smaller town, one that lacked the bustle Achilles had grown accustomed to in his time growing up in the city. It had maybe a fifth of the population, and the smallest fraction of the amount of stores and restaurants. There was a McDonald’s at least, and a shady looking Walmart, but not much else. None of the buildings looked like they had been built since before the turn of the century.

It would bring a nice change of pace, Achilles’ father had said. A fresh start after the divorce, went unsaid, but it was clear in the pained look in his eyes and the flash of anger that coursed through Achilles’ veins at the realization that there was more than just a better paying job behind his father’s reasoning. They’d been perfectly well off before. His dad was just reluctant to admit that his wife was the sole reason behind the switch in lifestyles. Him and mom splitting up was hard enough without the addition of navigating a new town- a new town to get used to during Achilles’ junior year of high school, no less. 

Achilles stares up at the house looming in front of him. He had to tilt his chin up just to be able to see the tip top of the roof. It was less of a warm, welcoming home and more of yet another obstacle he’d have to conquer. The box in his arms feels heavier, his back protesting at the weight. 

The house looked like something straight out of Scooby-Doo. The architecture looked old- Gothic, maybe? Achilles had never been one to care about that kind of stuff. But the wood paneling was dark and worn and the roof was black tiles in desperate need of power washing.  
There were vines going up a trellis that was about ready to crack from age, and even a little tower that Achilles couldn’t help but begrudgingly admit he was excited to explore.

“Pretty cool, right?” his father says from behind him. Achilles turns to face him. He was smiling, the house key in one hand and a box with kitchenware tucked under his arm. Even the key looks ancient: rusted brass, the shining example of a quick Google search for _key clipart_. 

“I feel like I’m about to be initiated into the Addams family,” Achilles replies. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Thing came crawling out the front door.” His father chuckles, but Achilles wasn’t entirely joking.

Inside was a little bit better. The interior had been updated in the past few decades, at least. Maybe the eighties. The carpet in the living room was an offensive shade of pink, and the fixtures in the kitchen were a dirty gold.

“First order of business,” Achilles’ father starts, setting down his box on one of the counters and digging out his keys to slice open the tape.

“Rip up the carpets and start over?” Achilles suggests. His father shook his head with a puff of laughter. Once again, not joking.

“We couldn’t possibly lose that charm, could we?” Achilles begs to differ. “No, first order of business is you pick your bedroom.” Achilles’ eyes light up, and his father quickly interrupts, “ _Not >_ the master bedroom.” The boy deflates. “But there’s three other bedrooms to choose from. Whatever you don’t pick will be my office and the guest bedroom, so choose wisely.” 

Achilles hadn't been included in the house hunt well, he had been offered, but Achilles turned down his dad immediately. Some childish part of the back of his mind insisted that if he didn't admit this was happening, then his life wasn't really about to change. So Achilles hadn't seen any of the house besides the outside from a few pictures his dad had shown him. 

Instantly, Achilles’ mind is drawn back to the tower. There had been a window overlooking the front lawn, so surely there was a bedroom in there? 

He hauls his box up the winding staircase, intent on finding the bedroom. The house was nice enough- dark without the electricity switched on, and a little dusty, but nice. There was enough room for a family twice the size of their own, but Achilles; dad wasn’t the type to settle into a bachelor’s pad. The wallpaper was a little loud and the windows a little old-timey looking, but… it was fine.

Achilles checks a few doors and is disappointed: a bathroom with a pink shower and toilet, a normal square bedroom with the curtains shut, a closet for linens. He’s ready for another boring disappointment when the door he opens up next leads to a smaller bedroom. 

And… something else. 

In the window seat, there’s a boy looking out over the yard. He’s dressed in a plain sweater and jeans, and his brown mop of curls is pulled back into a small ponytail that's more of a tuft than anything. The boy is hunched over, one knee hugged in his arms and the other swinging slowly off the seat. He’s sniffling, as if he’s just finished crying after some time.

“Um,” Achilles says smartly. 

The boy whips his head around. Brown eyes widen at the sight of him. The boy seems just as surprised to see Achilles as the other feels seeing him. 

“What are you doing in my house?” the boy asks, tone accusing and his gaze intense despite the puffy redness brought from his tears. "How did you get in?" 

Achilles is… taken aback, to put it lightly. Had the home not been checked and locked before its previous owners left? Maybe they had a bum living here in secret? Or had this kid broken in and decided to take up residence? But the door hadn’t seemed tampered with, and none of the windows had been shattered. Achilles feels his mouth opening and closing in confusion. The boy stares at him expectantly, and Achilles realizes he’s waiting for an answer. “This is my house. Who are you?”

The boy narrows his eyes in response. “None of your business. Why are you in my room?”

“This is my house now,” he repeats slowly. “My father bought it last month.”

The boy’s eyes flash with something. Fear? Outrage? “You’re lying,” he whispers.

“Wh-Why would I lie?” Achilles asks. He finally has the mind to set down his box and cross his arms instead. “I don’t even know you.” 

“And yet you trespass in my house,” the boy points out.

“ _My_ house.” 

Achilles doesn’t see this conversation going anywhere. The boy is still sitting in the window seat, but he’s facing him now. His tear-stained face is fierce with anger, shoulders hunched as if trying to protect himself. 

He should feel threatened, but the kid just looks so sad. Being attacked is the last thing on Achilles' mind when he watches him rub his nose on his sleeve.  
practically jumps out of his skin at the sound of the impact. 

There's a soft rap of knuckles on the doorframe, and Achilles' dad pokes his head through the open door. "How are things going? I heard you talking to someone-" 

"Dad!" Achilles exclaims. "I need your help!"

Achilles' father looks around the room, taking in the tarp covered wardrobe and the dust settling in the corners. The strange boy stiffens when the older man's gaze passes the window where he stands. His eyes skirt over the boy like he doesn't even exist. 

"Help with what? Unpacking?" His father runs a finger over the crown molding and frowns at the filth that gathers. "You should dust and vacuum before moving anything else in-" 

" _Dad_ ," Achilles interrupts. It earns him a leveled glare, but he's too frantic at the moment to worry about the repercussions if being disrespectful to such a strict parent. "You need to talk to this kid and set him straight."

His father looks confused, and his expression is mirrored on the boy's face. "Sir, I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding," he tries, but Achilles' father talks over him like a bulldozer clearing its path. 

"To who? One of your school friends?" His father scans Achilles for some sign of his phone to suggest he's on a call, but there isn't any. 

Achilles is getting frustrated. Frustrated at his dad for carrying this joke on for so long. Frustrated that he had to move into a new house the weekend before school started instead of spending the last few days of summer lazing around or biking with his friends. And especially frustrated at this newcomer and his baffled expression. As if he had any room to look so surprised! Surely this was some big prank his dad was pulling? Some way of getting back at Achilles for being so moody the past few weeks? 

"Dad, drop it," Achilles hisses. "It isn't funny."

"What isn't?" His father takes a step forward. 

"Are you both in on this or what?" 

"Achilles, you're concerning me-" 

"I _know_ you can see him!" Achilles reaches out and grabs the boy by his wrist-

Except he doesn't. His fingers go to curl around a bony arm but phase through instead. It feels like running his hand through still water, the ripples conforming around him. It's about as surprising as being dropped into an icy cold river. Chills shoot up Achilles' spine in an instant and knock the breath from his lungs. The boy's form flickers around Achilles' hand. 

Achilles' pulls his hand back quickly as if he's been burned. His mouth drops open.

"Achilles," his father is saying, "are you alright? You look pale... Do you need to sit down?" 

The boy wasn't real. But he must be, because when Achilles looked up to stare at him, those big brown eyes were only inches from his face and huge with terror. Though they aren't really brown now that he's so close. They're almost opaque but still the slightest bit translucent, like watered down coffee in a cup. 

Achilles watches as the boy holds his hands up and looks down at them in horror. Tears well in his eyes and spill onto the floor. But when Achilles follows their path with his gaze, the tears just…. disappear. They don't hit the floor or dampen the hardwood, they're just gone. 

He looks back up and the boy has vanished. 

.. 

It takes a lot of lies and fake laughter, but Achilles manages to convince his dad that the whole thing was an act. That he'd been mad at him for moving them on such short notice so far from his friends and he wanted to get his father's heart rate up with a real scare. That this was all in good fun. 

His dad is unimpressed, to say in the least, but he seems to take the bait. There's no more problems as Achilles trails behind him to continue unpacking their car, save for some angry grumbling from his father and how his child would be the death of him. Nothing out of the ordinary, and they're back to talking within a matter of hours. 

Achilles keeps glancing up at the window of his new bedroom each time he heads back outside to grab another box. There's no head of brown hair, no angry stare fixed his direction. Still, Achilles refuses to go back to his room and offers to organize the books in his father's office instead. 

It's as he's carefully inserting book after book by alphabetical order when Achilles' hand brushes against something rough. Whatever it was was on the roof of the shelf he had been rearranging. Achilles ducks his head to see what scratched him. 

Carved into the dark wood was a short phrase: _Patroclus was here!_ It's crude, stick-like writing, most likely that of a young child shakily guiding a sharpened rock or a knife. Achilles smiles slightly. He appreciates any piece of history he could find with this house, however insignificant it may seem. It gave the place character, turning a building into a home. Achilles wondered about little Patroclus. Such a big name for an unsteady hand. What was he up to these days? Did he wonder if someone would find his etching when his house was sold? 

If his dad found it, he may sand over the carving and smooth out the blemishes. Achilles keeps it to himself for now. He's secretly grateful the books he slides into the shelf are some that seem to have never been touched, their bindings pristine and lacking any cracks. Maybe his little treasure is safe for now. 

Achilles wonders if Patroclus might be that strange boy from before, the phantom he kept checking for in the corners of the room. 

His father catches his gaze drifting to the dark shadows lurking outside the ring of light cast by the fixture overhead. It’s hard not to be noticed when they’re sitting on the floor a few feet from each other, eating Chinese food out of takeout boxes. Their moving truck hadn’t yet arrived, still a day away from their house, so they had to make due by eating dinner on a blanket laid out on the floor. _Like a picnic_ , his dad had tried to say cheerfully, but he only seemed tired. Achilles turns his attention back to his father when he clears his throat.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” his father says. Achilles hasn’t been acting any differently, had he? And who could blame him if he had been- there had been a disappearing boy in his room for god’s sake! “What’s on your mind?” 

Achilles chews thoughtfully on his lo mein. He doesn’t want to worry his dad- not when he’s already under so much stress- so he takes a moment to formulate his next words. “I guess I was just curious,” Achilles begins. His father narrows his eyes, and Achilles swallows his food and sticks his chopsticks standing up in his box before continuing. Leave it to his dad to be such a stickler for manners. “Curious about who lived here before us.”

His dad looks taken aback, and Achilles supposes that maybe he is acting strange. He hadn’t asked any questions about the house before they moved in, resigned to mourning the loss of his life in his hometown he’d resided in for seventeen years while his dad signed the mortgages and handled move-in dates. “It was a couple that sold us the house,” he explains. “They weren’t very personal. Seemed in a rush to get the process over with and move out.” 

It had been a miracle they found somewhere new on such short notice, Achilles’ dad had told him. Some act of fate that only cemented his belief that uprooting their life was meant to be. The house had just landed on the market a few months ago when his father was house hunting. He’d put in an offer that was quite low compared to the asking price, expecting some haggling for a few weeks before coming to an agreement or even another buyer coming and taking the house with a better bid, but the couple had accepted immediately.

“That didn’t set off any alarms for you?” Achilles tries to joke, but it comes out more serious than he intended.

His dad shrugs, not seeming to have picked up on the tone. “At first, yes. I did my research though. The neighborhood is decent, good schools, low crime.” He twirls his noodles around his fork. “No murders or anything in the house, as far as I could tell. I asked the previous owners about it as a joke, and they seemed pretty angry that I’d even bring that up.” Achilles nods, somewhat unconvinced. There was no way a house so big and weird couldn’t have some sort of dark past. “Although…” He trails off.

“Although?” Achilles prompts. His dad looks reluctant to continue, but he knew he’d made a mistake by not finishing what he’d said aloud. Achilles would pester him for hours on end until he fessed up what was on his mind. He just hated being out of the know.

“There was a kid that went missing six months ago from the area,” his dad says. “Two actually, but the second one was found not too long after he disappeared. Well-” His dad looks down sadly. “His body was found.” Achilles feels his blood run cold. Two disappearances in such a small town? In such a short amount of time? His skin crawled at the thought. 

“Were they kidnapped?” he asks. Could their neighbors be some creepy child abductors? But his dad only frowns.

“The second one they don’t think so,” he explains. “There were no signs of a struggle, and the kid was only found a few miles outside of town. The police assumed it was a fight that might have broken out, or possibly even a suicide.” 

“And the first one?” 

His father shrugs again, not looking nearly as concerned as Achilles felt. “He still hasn’t been found. Apparently he was the type to run away from home, though, so the search stopped.” 

How strange. Achilles couldn’t help but wonder if the first kid knew what happened to the second, if he had witnessed the murder or possibly had a hand in it. He brings it up to his father. The first kid just wasn’t that kind of person. He’d been shy and reserved, made good grades in school and helped with the local blood drives. That possibility had arisen, but was quickly shot down by authorities on the case. Nothing in the kid’s belongings was suspicious, no crazed writings of a killer and no weapons of any kind.

Achilles wonders…

“Do you remember the names?” he asks. His heart sinks when his dad shakes his head.

“Can’t say I do.” He’s staring at Achilles strangely. “Are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t bring this up before because I was worried about you.” Worried about what exactly, Achilles couldn’t place. About his feelings towards the divorce? His unhappiness to move? The sudden seclusion Achilles subjected himself to, only making friends with his fencing sabre and a dummy in the garage for the past few weeks? Or about the boy in his room that he was still too scared to face on the off chance it hadn’t been some sort of hallucination?

Achilles offers his dad a sideways smile. “Yeah, I’m peachy.” His stomach hurts like he swallowed a stone, but Achilles manages another bite of his noodles. “I just wanted to be in the loop. I figure information spreads pretty quickly in small towns like this.” It’s a good enough answer for his dad, who looks relieved. Relieved enough to scold Achilles for talking with his mouth open again.

…

The hallway to his room is decorated with bright floral wallpaper: yellow with pink roses and faded green leaves and vines. But even with the femininity of it, Achilles finds his hand hovering over his doorknob. 

He's being stupid. That kid was just a trick of his mind, some weird way for Achilles to cope with the divorce or… something. But deep in his mind, he knew that couldn't be the case. Achilles hadn't even been sad when his parents announced their split, he just felt like he'd been holding his breath and could finally exhale. They'd never gotten along. Achilles knew they'd only been married for so long for his sake, but it must have gotten to a point where being together was so unbearable that Achilles' comfort was no longer a priority. 

Separate cars, rooms for each parent on the opposite side of the house, shifts that meant one never had to see the other. The idea of that sort of relationship in Achilles' future should be scarier than the figment of his imagination that could be behind the door. He huffs in exasperation and pushes the door open without a second thought. His heart leaps out of his chest… 

… But the kid isn't there. Only boxes needing to be unpacked and a cracked window letting in a slight breeze. The tarp covering the wardrobe ripples in the wind. Just as he thought: Achilles was going insane. Hopefully this place had a good therapist, because it looked like he was going to need one.

He sets his phone on the windowsill and plays music while he gets to work taking his stuff out of boxes. They're stacked in a neat pyramid in one corner of the room. Achilles' dad had offered to help, but Achilles turned him down despite his reservations. If he was going to have another nervous break, better to have one alone without his dad freaking out. 

It takes time, but eventually there's enough of his belongings to make this room his: the fencing trophies lining the built in shelves, a few Polaroids of he and his friends pinned to a corkboard, his fencing gear pushed under his bed and his sabres leaning against the wall. Achilles doesn't have his bed yet, so he settles for a sleeping bag and a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. 

He's exhausted from all the labor and collapses onto his makeshift cushion. Achilles sighs tiredly, his breath blowing his blond curls away from his eyes for just a moment. He needed a haircut soon. Were there even any barbers in this town? Achilles stares up at the ceiling, humming along to a song drifting through his room. If not, his mom could probably cut his hair the next time he saw her, but she’d always been weird about him getting even the simplest trim-

"I thought your taste in music would be worse."

Achilles jerks into a sitting position. He doesn't need to search for long before he sees the same kid from before sat atop his wardrobe, legs dangling over the side. 

"What are you?" Achilles asks, getting to his feet. He grabs one of his sabres and points the tip at the boy's chest. "I want answers."

He looks far from threatened. "I think you and I both know now that you can't hurt me," he points out. The boy sounds defeated, his voice gravelly and deep from crying. Achilles almost feels bad. _Almost._ He still has no idea what's going on here, so pity is at the back of his mind. "I… I don't know what I am." His gaze falls to the floor. "I didn’t realize anything was wrong."

Achilles lowers his weapon. He really doesn't think he's in any danger besides his head exploding from confusion. The carving in the library comes to his mind. "Are you Patroclus?" he asks. 

The boy looks a little surprised. "No one's called me that in some time," he admits. "It's always been Pat. It's more…" Patroclus trails off. Manageable? Achilles knew the feeling of having his name butchered by substitute teachers or fast food workers calling his order. 

"It is quite a name," Achilles says. 

"No stranger than 'Achilles.'" Achilles' grip on his sabre tightens. _How do you know my name_ must be apparent on his face, because Patroclus huffs something that could be taken as a small laugh and rolls his eyes. "I heard your dad talking to you. And, well-" He gestures with his head to the row of trophies. Each one is labeled with Achilles name. Beside the awards on the floor is his gym bag, embroidered with his name in golden font. Touche, ghost boy. 

"Point taken." He sets his weapon back against the wall. Even if Patroclus didn't just phase through him when they touched, Achilles had a couple inches on him as well as some muscle mass. He could take that kid in a heartbeat. Unless he had some sort of magic spirit powers. In which case, Achilles was screwed. 

Achilles isn't really sure what to do. Is it rude to ask ghosts about their life? Ask when they died? But Patroclus already made it clear he wasn't sure of those answers. 

He sits in the window seat and looks up at Patroclus. "You're a ghost, right?" he asks to start. It's a simple enough question, but even that makes Patroclus frown deeply. 

"I… I guess I am," he murmurs. "But I had no way of knowing until today. Not until you showed up. I just thought…" He glances at Achilles, who offers a small smile in support. "I don't know. One day I woke up in bed and my door was locked and the window couldn't open. I thought maybe my parents did it to punish me for something." Patroclus scratches his head. He didn't seem like he'd be the type to get in trouble. His voice was too gentle, his eyes too round and full of curiosity. "Then today you came. You opened the door- thank you for that, by the way. I could explore around the house and the yard, but I couldn't go much further."

Achilles tilts his head thoughtfully. "You couldn't leave your room until today?" Patroclus shakes his head in affirmation. "That didn't seem strange to you? What about eating? Drinking? Using the bathroom?" 

Patroclus wrinkles his nose. He looks irritated. Maybe Achilles pointed out the obvious and Patroclus was angry he hadn't been able to see it. Patroclus didn't seem like the type of person to be corrected too often. "Time just didn't seem real anymore," he explains shortly. "It was like each day blended into the next. All that I could focus on was how depressed I was, how horrible it felt to be all alone. Eventually I looked outside and realized the seasons had changed and the leaves were starting to come back, but I suppose it didn't really process."

Achilles hums. He can't possibly imagine being isolated for any extended period of time. It would be a special kind of torture. He was too much of a people person, too energetic to be kept in a single room without bursting at the seams. If Patroclus was even half as people-dependent as he was, it must have been a nightmare to be so alone. His heart aches for Patroclus, the image of his hunched form crying silently in the window seat creeping to the front of his mind. 

"How long was it like that?" Achilles asks gently. 

Patroclus' eyes look dull. "I can't say." He fiddles with his thumbs. "Long enough for spring to come, but I don't know if it's been months or… or years." He looks up at Achilles suddenly. "The date."

"Uh-?"

"What's today's date? Down to the year."

Oh! Of course! Surely Patroclus could at least remember the year he'd died? Achilles tells him. It's the middle of August, school just around the corner. 

Patroclus stiffens. "When was the last time you remember being alive?" Achilles prompts.

"About six months ago," Patroclus murmurs. 

Silence falls over the two of them. Patroclus' form flickers in and out of existence as the information seems to sink in. It's unsettling to watch, but Achilles couldn't possibly look away. Patroclus' shoulders tremble, but no tears come. Maybe he's cried them all already. 

Achilles lets Patroclus mourn in the quiet. His sniffles and choked back sobs are all that disturb the peace between them. 

Six months ago… 

"Wait," Achilles says. Patroclus is wiping his face with his sleeve furiously, gasping for breath between hiccups. But Achilles is much too focused now to let Patroclus continue. "Six months ago? Then you must be the kid that went missing."

"Someone went missing?" Patroclus mumbles. His voice is wet and cracking. 

Achilles nods. "My dad told me about it. Two kids actually, one of them was found dead though-" 

Patroclus' head jerks back with no warning. His mouth opens in a scream, but all Achilles can hear is garbled static as Patroclus covers his ears. He vanishes and reappears on his knees on the ground in front of Achilles. He looks like he's in pain, his hunched form trembling violently and his head shaking rapidly. 

Without a second thought, Achilles is on the floor. "Pat? Patroclus!" He reaches out for the boy. His hand phases through Patroclus like before, and he disappears. Achilles looks around for Patroclus, eyes wide with fear. What was going on? Was Patroclus remembering something? 

It takes maybe thirty seconds for Patroclus to come back, but it feels like ages with how Achilles waits in horror. What if he had done something horrible to Patroclus? What if he turned into some… some man eating spirit and tried to kill Achilles? 

But Patroclus fizzles back into existence on Achilles' pile of pillows, quivering with his back to Achilles. He scrambles to the ghost's side once more, careful not to touch him. It's difficult not to when the only way Achilles knows how to comfort others is through hugs or a hand on an arm. "Patroclus…" 

"I'm… I'm alright," the other boy manages hoarsely. He slowly lowers his hands from his ears. 

"Obviously not," Achilles objects. "What happened?" 

Slowly, Patroclus seems to calm down. Achilles lets him have time to come back to his senses. Whatever it was, it struck some sort of nerve in the other boy. The shaking finally dies down into a trembling sigh. 

"I remembered something." Achilles blinks in surprise, although he might have eventually come to that conclusion. "Not an exact moment in time, but the feeling of being so, so scared. Knowing I could die… that no one could help me." Patroclus sits up and turns to face Achilles. He looks distraught, brown doe eyes big and glassy and nose red from crying. "I don't want to remember any more," he whispers. 

Achilles doesn't think they can just leave the topic alone, though. It seemed like Patroclus was stuck with him. For how long, he had no idea. But his newfound friend needed to find peace with his old life if he was going to continue with this new way of existing or possibly move on- that much Achilles was sure of. At least, that always seemed to do the trick in the movies. 

For now, though, Patroclus looked incredibly small. His gaze downcast to the floor, his brown waves drooping against his head. 

"Is there anything I can do?" Achilles asks. It's a lame offer, but it's all he has at the moment. 

"I don't know," Patroclus murmurs. He's hugging himself tightly, shoulders drawn up to his ears. 

Achilles does all he knows how to. He hesitantly reaches out once more and puts his hand where Patroclus' knee flickers. It's that same feeling of being surrounded by cold water, but it's not so terrifying now that he knows what to expect. It… isn't too bad. Actually, it’s almost pleasant. Like dipping his hand into the water at the pool, or ocean waves lapping at his skin. 

Patroclus glances up. "We're going to figure this out," Achilles promises. "I don't know how, or where I'm going to even start, but I swear I'll do it, Patroclus."

The corner of his friend's lips quirk up a little. It's the first time Achilles has seen Patroclus smile. It fits him more than the scowling or his face screwed up in sobs. "I'm just some sad spirit haunting your house," Patroclus says softly. "You don't know anything about me, and I… I guess I don't know much, either, when it comes down to it. You shouldn't be making promises you can't keep."

"But I am going to keep it," Achilles protests. "We're gonna get to the bottom of this. Scout's honor." He holds up his right hand. Patroclus snorts. 

"Of course you'd be a boy scout."

"I'm serious, Pat."

Patroclus smiles wider. His eyes are still sad, but in his gaze there's the smallest flicker of hope. "Yeah, I know you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! thank you for reading!
> 
> some other future trigger warnings have been added, and I'll be making a note at the beginning of the chapters they will appear on.
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kenzsza/) or [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kenzsza) for updates or just for fun :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Achilles' investigation begins and Patroclus continues to reflect on how much it sucks to be dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws: some mentions of bullying, existentialism. the usual

Achilles spends the rest of the next day helping his dad unpack. He doesn't see much of Patroclus in the morning or afternoon. The briefest movement in the corner of his eye as Patroclus drifts along the front lawn, a flicker of light in the entrance of the kitchen when Achilles stirs his mac and cheese over the stove. Achilles isn't sure if Patroclus is taking advantage of his restored freedom or giving him space as he settles in with his dad. Maybe both. 

It's still disorienting when Achilles comes back from brushing his teeth for bed to see Patroclus rolling his basketball back and forth in his room. If his dad came in and saw, he'd die of a heart attack. 

"You have _got_ to tell me if you're planning to pop up out of nowhere," Achilles says once his heart stops racing. Leave it to him to be one of the few teenagers to die of an early heart attack. How was he supposed to explain that to his dad? Patroclus looks up. 

"Sorry." He doesn't sound the least bit apologetic. Achilles has the feeling that one more annoyed comment and he’d be hearing _I was here first_ from his friend.

Achilles is glad he got dressed in the bathroom. He's not exactly sure how he's supposed to get used to living with Patroclus, but Achilles is not at all ready to take the next step in this friendship and let Patroclus watch him strip. 

He sits on the edge of his bed and reaches to turn on the light. The sun had set while Achilles was getting ready, but he’s still too wide awake to even think about sleeping. They were going to have to start their research somewhere, right? Achilles pulls a notebook and a pen from a box of school supplies and flips it open to the first page. 

“A little late to be starting a diary,” Patroclus comments. He only barely glances up from the ball. 

“Not a diary,” Achilles corrects excitedly. At the top of the page, he writes _Clues_ in messy handwriting and underlines it twice. “I start school tomorrow, so I want to get some leads to follow while I’m there.” 

The ball phases through Patroclus’ hand. He doesn’t watch it roll away and instead looks up at Achilles. “Leads?” 

“Yeah, you know.” Achilles waves his hand for emphasis. “They do it in the crime shows and stuff: ask a witness everything they know and write it down, and then the police start investigating from there.” He had watched enough _CSI: Miami_ and _Criminal Minds_ with his dad to know the whole process, but Patroclus looks doubtful. 

“But I don’t even know how I could have died,” he points out. “I don’t see how you could get any sort of clues from me.” 

Achilles writes down his first bullet point: _possible causes of death?_ “Do you think you may have gotten into some sort of accident?” 

“What? No, I’m a pretty careful person. Look both ways before crossing the street and whatnot.” Yeah, that seemed about right. Achilles taps his pen to his chin as he thinks. 

“Did you have any enemies?” he asks, pointing his pen in Patroclus’ direction. That was another question they always asked on those crime shows. Find the person’s secret rivals in life and expose them for their possible motives. There was always that one person that had a hidden grudge towards the victim: a butler that wasn’t paid enough or a friend that had felt wronged. Honestly, Achilles should invest in a career in forensics!

But Patroclus only looks bewildered. “No?” he says incredulously. “I don’t think so? I’m a junior in high school, Achilles, not some sort of crime syndicate.” 

This was going nowhere fast. Achilles exhales in exasperation. Maybe he should let the ghost victim take the lead in his murder investigation. “Okay, well what do you think are possible ways you might have died?” 

Patroclus is sitting cross legged on the floor, and the next moment he’s hovering in the same position at eye-level with Achilles. It’s a little bit alarming. He drops his pen in shock when he looks away from his book and there’s an annoyed glare only a foot from his face. “I told you, I have no idea.” Patroclus puts his head in one hand and rests his elbow on his knee. “I hardly remember much from life, as it is.”

Achilles deflates. That makes things more difficult, but it was nothing he couldn’t work with. “Why is that?” He makes another bullet point: _lost memories?_

“I think it had to do with the time I spent alone.” Patroclus looks away thoughtfully. “It was as if I was being isolated to forget. That was part of the reason it was so scary. Eventually I couldn’t picture my mother’s face, or I’d have to think long and hard about my last name in order to remember it.”

 _Evil omnipotent force?_ Achilles scribbles. He’d have to remind himself later to die in a way that didn’t leave him stranded in the normal world. This was all a huge pain in the ass. No wonder so many ghosts seemed so pissed off or depressed all the time. “What do you still remember?” 

Patroclus squints. “Little things. My locker number, my best friend’s favorite color, getting hit in the face.”

Achilles writes it all down frantically. “What’s your best friend’s name?” he asks. A person with a close connection to Patroclus? That could definitely get them somewhere! 

But Patroclus shakes his head sadly, and any hope for that lead dissipates. “Gone. I don’t know. Her favorite color was yellow, though, if that helps.” It most likely wouldn’t- how many girls in the school were a fan of yellow?- but Achilles jots it down anyways to make Patroclus feel a little better. 

“Did she do it?” Achilles asks. Patroclus looks horrified and shakes his head aggressively. Darn, it was always the best friends in the shows and the movies. He would still keep it in mind without voicing his concern to Pat. “You mentioned getting hit?” Achilles prompts, changing subjects before Patroclus could glare a hole through him.

His friend’s face falls. “Yeah, I think it happened a lot.” Patroclus lifts a shoulder helplessly. That was all he had. 

“Did your parents hit you?” Achilles tries again. He knows he’s probably crossing a very thin line that would make Patroclus upset, but they needed as much information as possible. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel guilty at the pain that flashes across Patroclus’ expression.

“Uh, no, I think it…” He makes a small noise as he tries to recall the memory. “I think it happened at school? Or maybe nearby. It’s really hazy.” 

Achilles writes down _bullied_ and looks up at Patroclus expectantly. The ghost just frowns more, obviously not taking this new revelation very well. “Do you remember who did it or why?” 

The more questions he'd asked, the less Patroclus seemed to want to answer. By now, he was hunched in on himself, eyes downcast. Achilles wonders just how much he can really remember and how much he simply isn’t ready to disclose to his new friend. "I think that's enough for today," Patroclus says softly. Achilles looks up and is about to ask for more, but the steely look in his friend's gaze shuts him up. 

He had a big day to get ready for, anyways. Achilles puts the notebook into his bag just in case he finds out anything at school the next morning. Who knew? Maybe there's someone that would be able to actually tell Achilles what exactly led up to the disappearance. 

"So do you… sleep?" Achilles asks as he leans over to switch off his lamp. He doesn't exactly want to think of Patroclus sitting in the window all night listening to him breathe or, worse, watching him dream. They were friends, sure, but it was still unsettling to remember Achilles shared a room with a ghost he only met a few days ago. 

Unfortunate for him, Patroclus shakes his head. "I just zone out, really," he explains. He runs his fingernail along the black stripes on the basketball. "Remember in little snippets what it was like to live."

How depressing. Achilles frowns. "What about when you, like, poof and vanish?" It's happened a few times already. Achilles would be hanging up clothes or watching TV with his dad and Patroclus would fade from the room. After the first two or three instances, he stopped worrying Patroclus was gone forever. He usually turned up a few hours later like nothing had happened. 

"I don't really know." Patroclus tilts his head. "It's not resting. I pop back into reality and time seems to have moved forward while I was gone."

"Why didn't you just pop out when you were alone?" Achilles prompts. "To make time go faster? Or… have you tried poofing forever?" 

Patroclus looks offended. Achilles didn't mean he _wanted_ Patroclus to go away, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. And wasn't it better to not have to exist in such a depressing afterlife, even if for a moment? "I couldn't do it when I was alone," Patroclus says shortly. "Like I said: I think it was a way to get rid of what made me me." His brown eyes flash with anger. For the briefest moment, Achilles thinks he may be afraid of his friend. "I'm only just learning how to control it. When it happens, it's only for a few minutes. Sorry to inconvenience you."

"That isn't what I-" 

The ball stops rolling and Patroclus is gone. Achilles groans and rubs his face. Leave it to him to piss off a _ghost_ of all things. He pulls the covers over his head and wills sleep to come. 

… 

Patroclus steers clear of him that morning as Achilles gets ready to leave, which is impressive considering he's bound to the house with limited escape options. More power to him, Achilles supposes.

The first day of school comes and he's a bundle of nerves. Would he be able to find all his classes? Was the course material more challenging here? Would the students be drawn to him like at his last school, or would Achilles struggle to make friends? 

"I doubt you have anything to worry about." Patroclus is behind Achilles in the mirror as he carefully selects curls to pull from his ponytail and frame his face. He jumps in surprise. "You seem like the popular type."

Achilles turns to face the spirit. He still seems unhappy with Achilles, but at least the silent treatment was over. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asks. 

Patroclus gestures to Achilles with one hand as if that explained everything. Achilles frowns in response. 

"You're into sports," Patroclus explains with a huff. "There's loads of pictures of you with your friends, so you must be social. Smart, even if you are a bit dense. Attractive." Achilles stammers in response. "Probably have never had to work for anything in your life. It's always handed to you, isn't it?" 

"I- That's not true," Achilles protests. "Wait, can you read minds?" 

“I don’t have to.” Patroclus raises an eyebrow. "You're practically radiating anxiety." He leans against the wall. "And… you look like I did my first day of high school." His gaze softens at the memory, his head tilting back to rest on the wall. "But you have nothing to worry about. You'll be fine. You're nothing like me."

Achilles senses some lingering bitterness. Not exactly directed towards him, but it's there. "I take it you didn't have the best high school experience?" 

His friend wrinkles his nose. "I mean I'm dead, aren't I?" Fair enough. 

Achilles feels rather silly to be worrying so much. After all, he was the one still alive with a future ahead of him. It just felt selfish to fret over the wrinkles in his jeans or if he should wear his fencing gym t-shirt or a graphic tee when Patroclus was over his shoulder, feet just barely hovering over the ground. 

"I'm sorry, by the way," Achilles says. Patroclus raises his eyebrows in question. "For telling you you should disappear. I didn't mean it like that at all."

"Hard to see how you could have meant it any other way." But his voice is tired. Patroclus exhales with resignation. For someone who didn't need sleep, he seems so tired. Achilles worries for him. How is Patroclus to keep existing in such a state? He wasn’t happy. This wasn’t living. "I understand this is all pretty weird. I wouldn't want some sad ghost living in my room, either-" 

"But it's not that," Achilles interrupts quickly before Patroclus could tear himself apart. He turns on his heel to face his friend. "I meant that you aren't happy like this, and if moving on is the way for you to find peace… well, I want to help you find how to do that." He offers a small smile, one that makes Patroclus' eyes widen. "But until we figure that out, you're not an inconvenience. It's actually pretty nice already having a friend in town." 

The spirit is quiet for a moment. He eventually nods slowly. "Yeah… okay," he agrees. 

"Okay?" Achilles echoes. 

"Like you said: we'll figure this out." Patroclus looks back at Achilles' reflection in the mirror, and Achilles follows his gaze. They're a strange pair: Patroclus floating and partially transparent behind Achilles, and Achilles as full of life as ever. He wonders if anyone else would be able to see his friend following from a short distance, if they'd recognize the missing boy from six months ago. Or was Achilles somehow special? Bound by fate for whatever reason to help Patroclus in death?

This would be the part where Achilles puts a hand on Patroclus' shoulder in reassurance, but that isn't exactly an option. He grins wide at his friend instead and offers a thumbs up. Patroclus laughs softly, a hand shooting up to cover his mouth as he chuckles. It's… a nice thing to see after watching Patroclus mope around for so long. Achilles can't help but want to listen to him laugh for longer. He'd try to get Patroclus to produce that sweet melody more often. 

Achilles scoops his backpack off the floor and double checks its contents. Notebooks? Good. Pencils? He'd lose them within the first week, but there were a few for now. Phone charger-? 

"I feel the same, by the way," Patroclus says. Achilles looks up. 

"What do you mean?" 

Patroclus tucks a piece of hair behind his ear and smiles. "Happy to have you as a friend," he explains. He floats close to Achilles until they're only inches apart. Achilles figures Patroclus would be shorter if he were alive with two feet on the ground, but he has to look up to meet Patroclus' gaze. The other boy opens his arms and envelops Achilles in what would be a hug. It's disorienting, having some unknown force move and shift around him with Achilles unable to touch it, but it's also… comforting, in its own way. The gentle tug and push of cold air around him is uniquely Patroclus', and the quirk of his lips in a sideways smile when he pulls away is sweet enough to rival any embrace. 

He's struck with a pang of sadness. What had happened to such a shy and sensitive person? Had someone really had the heart to kill Patroclus? His eyes were so friendly, even with the dull pallor brought by death, so how could anyone possibly watch the life leave them?

Achilles was going to find out exactly what went down. He couldn't live with himself if he let Patroclus' memory just fade away with time! His friend deserved answers, and Achilles was also just too damn curious for his own good. 

It's warm outside, muggy despite it only being seven in the morning. Achilles walked with Patroclus down to his bus stop at the bottom of the hill- well, he walked and Patroclus just drifted along. He'd broken into a sweat by the time they reached the bottom, his shirt stained around the armpits and his hair sticking up from the humidity, and Patroclus had the audacity to murmur "didn't miss this" when Achilles leaned against the bus stop sign and huffed out a relieved sigh. 

There's still a few minutes before the bus gets to him. Achilles tilts his chin up to watch the sun begin to rise over top the trees. Patroclus sits beside Achilles- hovers, more like. His legs are crossed and his hands stuffed in his lap. They both track the sunrise in quiet admiration. 

"Anything I should know before the big day?" Achilles asks once the sky begins to look more blue than orange and pink. "Cliques to avoid, teachers to switch out from if I happen to get them."

Patroclus narrows his eyes at the sun. Achilles wonders if it still hurts to look at, or if it's just out of a lifetime of habit. "The jocks are…" He trails off and thinks for a moment. "Narrow minded idiots. I'd say steer clear, but they might be your type of people."

Achilles kicks the air where Patroclus should be. His foot might not connect with Patroclus' knee, but his image flickers briefly and his friend turns to glare at him. "You saying I'm a narrow minded idiot?" Achilles asks accusingly. 

"Well, I don't know about the narrow minded part considering your first friend in this town is a ghost, but…" Achilles sticks his tongue out at Patroclus, who mimics the gesture. He's smiling when Achilles gives up with a roll of his eyes, but it slowly fades from his face. "Be careful," Patroclus says quietly. "You guys might like the same stuff, but they're nothing like you. They're brutes. They'll pick on any insecurity you might have." He looks off into the distance. Opposite the bus stop on the other side of the road is a row of trees leading deep into a forest. It's a little eerie, and Achilles doesn't exactly like the placement of this stop any more. 

He lets Patroclus brood for a moment before asking, "Did they bully you? The jocks?" It's no surprise when Patroclus nods, as sad as it was for Achilles to admit to himself. 

"Yeah, it's started coming back to me," he says. "The taunts. The pretty regular intimidation tactics. Small town. If you don't fit in, it's pretty obvious. If there's something different about you…" 

Achilles waits for Patroclus to finish, but he doesn't. He just keeps looking at the forest, picking the frays in his spectral jeans. "Different how?" he prompts. Patroclus stiffens, finger wrapped around a loose thread. "Like if you're a spooky ghost with a bad attitude?" 

He doesn't appreciate the joke. If anything, Patroclus only seems more distant than before. "Just different." 

The ground rumbles beneath them. Achilles checks his phone and sure enough, it's about time for him to get picked up. But Patroclus still looks a little down, his mouth in a thin line and his eyes narrowed against the sun.

"They can't hurt you anymore," Achilles says. Patroclus glances up at him, and Achilles' heart leaps when their eyes meet. "The bullies. They'll never be able to get you again." 

"Maybe not." Patroclus looks away again. "But their words are still there. The things they'd say to me... I can never get rid of those. They stuck around, even after the isolation, so they're here to stay."

They watch as the bus pulls up in front of their spot, shuddering to a stop. It's so rusty it's almost more brown than yellow, and the stop sign on the side is cracked in half. Achilles wonders if this thing is even safe to ride. Regardless, his dad is too busy to drive him and there's no way he's walking the few miles it takes to get to school, so he pushes off the sign and starts towards the open doors. 

Patroclus begins to follow, but he slams into some sort of invisible wall. Achilles pauses to look back when he shouts in surprise. As if he's a fish in a tank, Patroclus is hitting the barrier keeping him from leaving with his fist. He looks panicked. Had he not tried to leave before? This must have come as a shock then.

"Pat!" Achilles exclaims. 

"Achilles!" Patroclus spreads his hands along the wall, desperation apparent on his face. "Go on without me, I'll be alright!" 

Achilles frowns deeply. This hadn’t been part of the plan. Sure, he knew Patroclus’ range he could travel was pretty restricted, but Achilles had secretly been hoping that maybe that would be fixed by the time he had to go to school. "Patroclus-" 

The bus driver honks his horn and leans over the wheel to glare at the student holding up his route. 

"Just look out for yourself, okay?" Patroclus says. "Tell me if you find out anything." 

Achilles is yelled at to either get in or he's walking, that the driver doesn't have all day. But… he's worried. A new school where his ghost friend disappeared from? Patroclus had lived in this town for years before he disappeared and still managed to run into trouble. What about Achilles who knew nobody? Was he going to be safe? 

Patroclus shoos him with a small smile of encouragement. Achilles has no choice but to hop up the stairs in a hurry if he doesn't want to get left behind. When he takes his seat and looks out the window, Patroclus is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the kind comments!!! ;_; i appreciate you all so much! i'm glad you're enjoying the story so far
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kenzsza) and [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kenzsza) for updates or if you just want to talk about patrochilles, really!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where school starts, Patroclus remembers just a bit more, and Achilles is... Achilles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws: very brief mention of suicide- nothing more than a passing mention, the usual talk of death when one main character is a ghost

It's like every other high school, just dingier. 

Achilles notices stares directed his way as he walks down the hall, a piece of paper in his hands with his class schedule printed out along with his locker number scribbled at the top corner. Students whisper among themselves. None of it seems to be antagonizing, just curiosity. It's probably normal for people to pick him out so quickly- after all, there weren't exactly too many new people moving into this town. 

_Who's the new kid?_

_I heard he moved into Pat's old house._

His locker is easy enough to find. The door is pretty banged up with dents. Achilles isn't even entirely sure it can open as he puts in the combination, but it clicks open with a rusty creak. The inside is terribly small, hardly big enough to fit his lunch much less a stack of books. Achilles sees a backpack weighed down by all his notebooks in his future.

_So does that mean he's dead?_

_I mean, it's been months. He must be._

_I don't know. I heard he went to live with family in New York._

_I heard he killed himself and his family is too embarrassed to admit it._

While it made sense people were especially interested since Achilles took the place of the missing kid, it didn't make it any easier to hear other people talking about Patroclus. It settles in his stomach like a stone. His friend had been reduced to nothing more than a rumor, a ghost story. He shoves his books and his bag into his locker as quickly as he can, not even certain if he grabs the right books when he slams the door shut and shuffles along. 

He isn't sure what he expected, but when Achilles turns to look at a bulletin board and is met with Patroclus' face, he can't help but jump back in shock. He's printed on a poster, the picture obviously some sort of school portrait he took as Patroclus looks posed and uncomfortable. His hair sticks up more than it does now, and his brown eyes are richer when they're not translucent and lacking happiness. 

_**Missing person  
Patroclus  
Brown hair. Brown eyes. 5'10".  
Last seen 02/14/20XX  
Any information, call… ** _

There's a number listed below. The poster was something Achilles sort of figured would be hung up, but it seems… unprofessional. Not at all like the missing person posters hung up at the post office or printed on milk cartons. The font isn't formal enough, the contact number obviously not connected to the police. And hadn't his father said the search for Patroclus had ended? The poster is too pristine to have been printed at the time of his friend's disappearance. 

It might help their search. Achilles carefully removes the staple holding it to the board and folds the paper neatly to stuff into his bag. 

He's adjusting his backpack strap when he sees another poster, this time in the process of being hung up. The girl stapling it stands on her toes, hair cascading down her back and swaying back and forth as she puts force into the stapler. She takes a step back afterwards to look up at the paper and assess her handiwork. 

She's cute, Achilles thinks. Dark hair, dark eyes like Patroclus. They have the same sad look in their eyes too. She touches his friend's portrait with the tips of her fingers: gently, as if there were the possibility of hurting his memory if she were too rough.

She turns around and catches Achilles staring. There's a stack of more posters tucked under her arm. Her sleeves are rolled up to reveal a wrist full of different beads and bracelets. Achilles’ eyes are drawn to a tattered braid of string that sits alone on her other wrist, as if it were special somehow. When he looks back up, her eyebrows come together in a glare. She looks like she wants to say something to Achilles. He's about to open his mouth and ask her name when she whips around and storms off, probably looking for another place to hang more posters. 

… 

Patroclus had been right: Achilles had nothing to worry about. He'd found his classes fine, and a group of boys had called him over to sit with them at lunch. There was still the nagging reminder in the back of his head that surely one of these students knew what truly happened to Patroclus, where he'd gone and who did it to him. But by the time Achilles was finished eating, he had a couple new acquaintances telling him to come sit with them tomorrow and some phone numbers put into his contacts.

Sign up sheets for track and field tryouts were right outside the cafeteria. That seemed fun; after all, Achilles had always been pretty quick on his feet. Besides, he wasn't sure if there were any fencing clubs nearby, so this would have to do. Achilles paused to write his name down. His friends gave him just enough time to dot his i's before dragging him away by his arm, laughing at some joke one of them had told. 

Things seemed alright for Achilles. 

That didn't mean he was going to give up his flair for the dramatics. Achilles tosses his bag onto the ground with an unceremonious _thud_ before throwing himself onto his bed. The springs protest under him. 

"I see you're still alive," Patroclus teases. “I can’t exactly relate.” Achilles turns his head to find him. The spirit is sitting on the ground in front of Achilles' desk despite there being an open chair. "How did it go?" 

Achilles groans and flings an arm over his face. 

"That's… about what I expected," Patroclus says with a sad nod. 

"Everyone is nice enough," Achilles sighs. He didn't exactly feel like recalling his day right after getting home. What was there to even talk about? The first week of school was always syllabus after syllabus shoved in his face and teachers telling students their expectations were set high in the atmosphere as if someone actually cared. 

But Patroclus looks genuinely curious. Achilles realizes that's probably because the guy was bored at home with no one to talk to except him. Roaming around the same space had to get old pretty quick. 

So he tries to think of anything interesting enough to talk about. "I met some guys that were pretty cool," he continues. "I think they're on the basketball team or something. They were all wearing jerseys and lettermans."

Patroclus bristles, his shoulders tensing. "What were their names?" he asks nonchalantly enough, but there's an edge to his voice. 

Truthfully, Achilles met so many people he could hardly distinguish one from the next. "I dunno." He thinks hard. "I think there was a Leo… and maybe a Johnathon. Or was it Joshua?" Patroclus doesn't seem unsettled by the boys in question. He relaxes slowly, the fear on his face is replaced by his normal quiet curiosity. 

"Perhaps tomorrow you can actually _listen_ when people tell you their names," Patroclus suggests. Mischief glints in his eyes. Achilles rolls his eyes in response but can't help the smile that makes its way to his lips. It had been too long since he had someone he could go back and forth with like this.

"Too many names. Too much brain power. I'm a narrow minded idiot, remember?" Patroclus chuckles at his own words and doesn't argue. Achilles should be offended, but his smile only grows wider. 

There's the memory of brown curly hair falling down a curved back, nimble fingers holding up a piece of paper as high up as possible while one hand staples it down firmly. 

"Do you have a sister?" Achilles asks. Patroclus can only look confused. 

"No. I'm an only child. _Was._ " His voice sounds pained the way it seems to always be whenever he remembers he's dead. Achilles normally lets his friend sit in quiet remembrance of his lost life, but now just wasn't the time. 

Achilles sits up and turns to face Patroclus. "There was someone putting up posters of you," he explains, digging in his backpack for the paper he'd taken earlier. It's a little more crumpled than before, but still legible. Achilles hands it to Patroclus, who also seems to momentarily forget he isn't exactly corporeal. The poster drifts through his fingers and onto the ground, landing face up. 

Patroclus takes a minute to read over it. "Missing person…" He squints. " _That's_ the picture they chose to use? I look so… awkward." Achilles stares in disbelief. Only Patroclus would be concerned that his portrait wasn't attractive on his own missing poster. "Why is this so shocking? I've been gone for six months, so of course there's going to be posters."

_Apparently he was the type to run away from home, though, so the search stopped._

Achilles' blood runs cold. Patroclus had no idea his parents had given up any hope of finding him. There were no posters around town for him, no weeping couple waiting with open arms for Patroclus to come home. He'd been entirely forgotten, chalked up to a runaway and his fate disregarded. Achilles and this girl were the only people who seemed to care at all about what happened to him. 

"I… I guess I just hadn't really thought it through," Achilles lies. He's never been very good at deceiving people. His mom always managed to see right through him, and he'd never been able to make up reasons he was late to class without looking like a complete fraud. Even Patroclus who has only known Achilles for a few days glances away from the paper to give him a strange look. 

It's too early to tell Patroclus. Maybe his parents had a good reason to give up, although if Achilles were in their place, he'd search the ends of the earth for his loved one. He already feels an ugly resentment towards Patroclus' parents despite having never met them. It's hard not to judge when their missing child was beside him, so obviously not a runaway and desperate for some sort of answer as to what happened to him. If they couldn't figure out what happened to him for their own peace of mind, why not for Patroclus' soul to be able to rest? 

Patroclus didn't seem like he'd run away from home. He was sarcastic and annoying, but he was also obedient. He gave Achilles boundaries, avoided him and his dad when they had conversations at dinner or when his mom was brought up. For whatever reason, Achilles was sure Patroclus would've been the kind of person to reason with his family before leaving, and if he _had_ left, why couldn't he remember events leading up to it? Wouldn’t that be important enough to stay ingrained in his mind?

His friend makes a small thoughtful noise that draws Achilles from his thoughts. Patroclus is frowning, tapping the number listed with his pointer finger. "I know this from somewhere," he says. 

"I think it was the girl's number. The one putting up the posters." Achilles rolls onto his stomach and hangs over the edge of his bed. "She looked a little like you." He crosses his arms and pillows his head on them. "Brown hair, brown eyes, angry looking whenever she noticed my presence."

Patroclus' eyes widen almost comically in recognition. "Did she have a bracelet on?" he asks, voice shaking. "Like this one." He holds up his arm and pushes back his sweater sleeve. Achilles had never noticed the ratty looking braided thread around Patroclus' wrist, usually concealed by fabric. The colors are muted with Patroclus' form being otherworldly, but they're familiar. 

Achilles thinks hard about the girl. Her sleeves had been rolled up, and dangling on the arm holding up the poster… "Yeah," he confirms. "She was. I'm guessing you know her?" 

His friend's eyes look bright with sudden recognition. Patroclus' excitement makes Achilles sit up in bed expectantly. "Briseis," Patroclus whispers. "She's my best friend." He holds his wrist close to his chest and over his heart.

It made sense. She'd seemed so bitter when she caught Achilles staring, protective of Patroclus even after his death, and yet so… empty. Her anger had barely reached her eyes. Definitely the behavior of someone who lost someone dear and was struggling to hold onto hope. 

"You have to call her."

Achilles knew that was the next course of action, but he hadn't been prepared for the urgency in Patroclus' gaze. "And tell her what?" he asks incredulously. "That I met her best friend, the ghost? That he haunts my bedroom and calls me an idiot?" 

"You just- you have to talk to her." Patroclus raises his voice. "She'll know what happened! If I were to tell anyone anything before I died, it would be her." That made sense, but she was looking for new information, not some stranger drilling her about her missing best friend while the wounds were still fresh. "And yeah, you need to tell her I'm here," he adds. 

"Pat, that isn't going to exactly go over well," Achilles argues. "If looks could kill, she'd have murdered me six different ways just because I happened to see her put up posters! Imagine if I tell her I can communicate with the spirit of her missing best friend." 

Patroclus already has his mind set- Achilles can tell. There's that same determination he'd seen in Briseis' gaze as she put up the posters, that stubbornness that Achilles was quickly realizing he'd need to get used to. They must have been good friends if they so easily picked up each other's expressions. "Text her and say you need to talk," Patroclus says. There's no room for arguing. He may be a docile ghost and new to this whole afterlife thing, but Achilles worries that if he were to go against what he said, Patroclus might find a way to take out his rage on him. 

Still, Achilles tries to disagree. He has no idea how this was supposed to go well for either of them. "But-" 

" _Now_." 

Okay, nevermind. He's not that strong. 

… 

_You: hey, ur the one looking for pat, right_

_You: bri... something?_

_Briseis: look, if this is another prank text then I'll have you know that I am close with the police in this town and I will not hesitate to report you_

_You: woah woah. i just wanted to see if we could meet up tomorrow at school_

_You: i might know something about pat that could help u_

_Briseis: this better not be a joke_

_You: it isn't. swear on my life_

_Briseis: ...ok_

_Briseis: meet me ten minutes before lunch in the cafeteria. I'll be in the back right corner by the trash cans_

_Briseis: don't be late_

Patroclus had reassured Achilles that she, in fact, hated the cops and would rather die in a home invasion than ever turn to them for help. 

It isn't difficult to find Briseis- _Bri_ , Patroclus had corrected him. Bri thought her name might make her seem intimidating and preferred the nickname. Achilles thought she was intimidating no matter how much she shortened her name. 

She's sitting with her back to Achilles. There's the same shock of dark curly hair, this time pulled into a ponytail that's threatening to burst out of its constraints and a headband to contain as many stray curls as possible. Bri has her backpack on the bench next to her and a folder open on the table. Her phone is in her hands… Probably texting Achilles that he's thirty seconds late. Thirty-one. Thirty-two. 

It wasn't exactly his fault it was difficult to get out of calculus. Achilles had to come up with an excuse that he had a migraine that was only worsened by the fluorescent lights. His teacher had been unconvinced, but a flash of his apologetic grin and one hand rubbing the top of his head managed to change her mind. 

Bri looks up at the sound of his footsteps on the linoleum. She squints, probably in recognition. The weird kid who lived in her best friend's house, had taken down a poster, and then stared at her for a solid minute. "Sit," she commands. Achilles obliges, taking the seat across from her. 

Now that he's up close, he feels silly for ever mistaking her as Patroclus' sister. Her features are sharper and beautiful in a delicate way that didn't quite match her aggression. Bri's nose is smaller and curves to a button tip. Patroclus' is a straight slope down to his cupid's bow, one that Achilles often traced with his eyes when he speaks. It's as if he's carved from granite.

She sets her phone down on the table and stares intensely at Achilles. He feels… violated with how she seems to look right through him, back hunched and chocolate eyes squinting. "You're the new kid," she says after a minute. 

Well, duh. He looked like a fish out of water in this godforsaken place. "Yeah," Achilles nods. "Achilles. Nice to meet you." He sticks out his hand. Bri looks down at it briefly before setting her gaze back onto him. Achilles slowly retracts it back to his side. 

"You moved into his house," she continues. "He… He hated living here. In this town." Bri's eyes soften. "But it wasn't so bad because of his home." She looks Achilles up and down. _And you took it from him_ , the intensity in her gaze says silently. Achilles would have corrected her that actually they’re sharing, but he keeps quiet for now.

"Uh, sorry?" What else is there to say? Achilles wasn't the one who moved his livelihood to Small Town, USA. He was the victim in all this, the product of a failed marriage. 

Bri gestures with one hand. "You said you have information about him." Her voice wavers slightly, and Achilles' heart aches for her. Six months with no word from her best friend. How lonely she must be, how betrayed she must feel. 

But Achilles knows the truth. There's a confused boy waiting at home for him, eager to find out even the tiniest bit of information about his demise. "What exactly happened to him?" Achilles asks. 

His interrogator immediately glares at him coldly. "You told me-" 

"That I have information, I know," he interrupts abruptly. Better to stop her in her tracks before her doubts start to pile up. "I, um, wanted to make sure our stories matched up."

Bri doesn't look convinced. Achilles tries to flash his usual sideways smile, the one that could change minds and clear the air in the room. She only deadpans. 

"He disappeared in February," she begins slowly. Each word is clipped, lacking emotion but making up for it in intensity. It's as if she's practiced this before, and Achilles realized she must have. The police would have been interested in Patroclus' good friend when they had been investigating. "He came to school. We talked before classes started, he said he'd see me at lunch, and that was the last time I ever saw him. He never made it." Bri closes her eyes and inhales through her nose, exhales through her mouth. "I texted him. He said he was in a lot of trouble and he'd explain everything later. I got a call that night to go to the police station."

Achilles feels like he's getting basically nowhere. "Pat didn't say anything about what he was doing when you talked before school? No plans? Ideas to run away-?" 

"He wouldn't leave without me!" Bri interrupts angrily, and Achilles flinches at the outburst. Tears have been welling in her eyes, and she covers her mouth as they threaten to spill over. And Achilles realizes he is a complete idiot for even entertaining that idea. Patroclus was loyal. Bri depended on him, and he wouldn't just abandon her unless something bad had happened to him. 

She sniffles and rubs one eye aggressively with the heel of her hand. "What did you guys talk about before school?" he tries again, gentler this time. 

Bri shakes her head. "I- nothing out of the ordinary. He had plans for yearbook club that weekend… wanted my help confessing to this kid he liked, what would be on the menu- he hated the food here." She scowls at Achilles, but the heat is gone from her gaze when her eyes are red from crying. Probably too distraught to keep up the cool girl facade. "I'm supposed to be the one asking questions here."

That's probably all the information he was going to get. Achilles didn't think it was much, but maybe Patroclus could decipher what little scraps he had to put that day together. "Ask away," Achilles says. His stomach turns with anxiety. Maybe he should have actually prepared for this. 

"What do you know?" Bri demands. "You told me you could help me, so spit it out." 

Achilles hesitates. He isn't quite sure how much of this he can form into a normal, non-ghostly story for Bri. "I, um, just moved into his house like you said. I've done a little bit of research just because I was curious, you know? My dad told me about the case and how the police stopped looking." Bri stiffens with anger. "And I think he might have… maybe died?" 

"How would you know that?" Bri asks, very obviously skeptical. Is she really in denial? It had been six months. Surely someone as smart as her knew that the possibility of Patroclus being alive was slim to none. "Do you have proof?" 

Seriously? His story is already falling apart. "Well, I've been looking into his case since I first heard about it. Pat seemed like a pretty good student," Achilles says tentatively. "And I don't know. He just wouldn't run away, and nobody saw him leave school. I… have this gut feeling-" 

"You came to me because of a _feeling_ ," Bri repeats. She sounds monotone, but the fire in her eyes gives away her rage. “About someone you’ve never even met.”

"The house has been kind of weird," Achilles continues in a rush. "There's cold spots, things falling off shelves, the feeling someone is watching me. Like it's haunted."

Bri slams her hands on the table and stands up to leave. She’s heard more than enough, and the truth is so far-fetched that of course she wouldn’t believe him. And who could blame her? Achilles wouldn’t believe it in her place either.

But Achilles only mirrors her actions. "He's dead and his spirit isn't at rest," Achilles finishes. "I know it. That's the only explanation."

"Go."

"But don't you think that has to be the logical conclusion?" Achilles asks. He's desperate to keep Bri's attention for as long as he can. "Pat would've come back by now if he was okay, so it only makes sense-" 

"I told you to _go_."

"And-and Patroclus, I can communicate with him? Like we have some sort of connection. After all, he's the one that told me you're his best friend and I should come talk to you-" 

The pain isn't immediate, unnoticeable until Achilles realizes his head has snapped to one side and his cheek is blooming with heat. There's a sickening crunch where knuckles had made contact with his soft skin. Bri's hand is curled into a tight fist that quivers by her side. Her knuckles are beet red, and Achilles touches his face gingerly. She _punched_ him? 

He can only stare in disbelief as the shaking girl in front of him boils over with pent up anger. She was so small, so delicate, but she packed a serious hit. "Get away from me," she hisses. Bri shoves her folder into her bag and throws the backpack over her shoulder without zipping it up all the way. "Don't you _ever_ come near me again." She storms away, shoes squeaking harshly on the polished floor and her shoulders hunched with anger. 

Achilles looks around the cafeteria. The staff working in the food line stare at him, gaping in shock. None of them make a move to tell a teacher or principal. Why bother when Bri had only socked him once and ran? When Achilles was just standing there dumbfounded? No fight had broken out or anything. 

By the throbbing in his face, there's already a bruise forming on his cheek. He slings his bag over one shoulder and makes his way to the bathroom. If any of his friends sat with him, they would have to ask questions. Achilles would much rather sit on the floor in one of the stalls and sulk in silence than admit that he terrorized the poor girl with a dead friend.

Who needed to eat lunch anyways?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the support you've shown!!! every comment makes my day :) i'm glad my silly au can make other people happy
> 
> i'm definitely hoping to update twice a week, but that might slow down since college is kicking my butt. just continue to check for any new chapters!
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kenzsza/) or [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kenzsza) for updates or just for fun :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles and Patroclus discuss their findings, and there's the beginning of... something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws: usual talk of death/existential crises, minor flashback of verbal abuse

Of course his father chose to work from home the one day Achilles comes back from school with a black eye. 

"What happened to you?" he demands when he runs into Achilles getting a glass of tap water from the sink. He's tired from walking up the hill leading to the house. His backpack feels like it's full of rocks. 

Images of Bri's anger come to the front of his mind. How her eyes lit up with seething rage, so different from Patroclus' seemingly permanent far off gaze. 

Achilles takes a sip and waves his hand nonchalantly. "Someone riding a bike ran into me," he lies, a little smoother than he had to get out of class. Perhaps he was getting better at lying, but Achilles wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing. "I fell on my face. They, uh, apologized and everything." He gives his dad a smile to try and sell the story. "It's no biggie, really."

His father seems to relax. He always seemed to buy into Achilles' lies. Whether it was because he was too gullible and trusting or he simply didn't want to believe his son could do anything wrong, Achilles wasn't entirely sure. "You need to look where you're going," he chides him gently. It was hard to make his father mad. "Your head has been in the clouds the past few days. Something on your mind?" 

Patroclus is there in the corner of his eye. Just… floating, barely in Achilles' peripheral vision, but definitely there. One more secret to keep, he supposes. "Not really," Achilles says. He takes one last gulp of water before tipping the glass upside down in the sink for it to be washed later. "The move, I guess. Trying to get used to a smaller town. Not having…" Not having Mom around. She would be bitching and chastising his dad and insisting Achilles practice fencing or study harder. It's strange not to be walking on eggshells all the time. Achilles doesn't exactly miss her, but she was his mom, and he'd gotten used to her presence. He still can't let himself relax. 

It doesn't need to be said. Achilles' dad nods. "Of course. It's been rough for me, too." He sets one hand on Achilles' head and ruffles his hair. "You know you can always talk to me if you need to, son. About anything: school, life, whatever you want."

Achilles can't help but glance at Patroclus. _Even about my ghost?_ He's still not entirely convinced Patroclus can't read minds. Not when his friend smiles a little almost as if in response. 

"Thanks," Achilles mumbles. Because what else can he say? There was no way he was going to try to explain all this to his dad. He had a new job to get used to and bills to pay and a divorce to finalize; he didn't need to worry his kid was losing his mind. 

He's sent off with a strong pat on the back and a not-so-subtle reminder that he had chores to do when he finished his homework. Achilles only gives his dad a wave in response as he dashes up the stairs. 

Patroclus is already behind his bedroom door when he opens it. "What the hell did you do?" he asks, blocking Achilles' way into his room. 

"Your girlfriend is very sensitive." Achilles walks right through him. Patroclus grunts in response as his form ripples around him. It makes the hair on Achilles' body stand up and causes his stomach to churn, but he had a point to make. 

"Not my girlfriend," Patroclus corrects quickly. He takes a moment to fully materialize back into his normal state of ghostliness, and even then he seems a little uncomfortable. Achilles would feel bad if his face wasn't a throbbing reminder of Patroclus' brilliant advice. "She punched you? Bri? She won't even kill spiders. She'd make me take them outside, say they're a vital part of the food chain."

Achilles scoffs in disbelief. The Bri he met would probably eat spiders for breakfast, she was so intense. "Yeah, well, she's certainly not as much of a pacifist anymore." 

His eye is swollen shut, so Achilles has to feel in front of him carefully for his bed before taking a seat. He hadn't realized how important two eyes were for depth perception until he'd missed a step climbing off the bus and almost toppled over. Achilles lets his bag fall off his shoulder and onto the ground. 

Patroclus sits beside him, the bed not dipping under him. "You should put ice on that," he suggests softly. He reaches out and brushes his fingers against Achilles' tender cheek. It feels like the faintest touch of a butterfly's wing: so subtle it's as if it isn't there, but comforting. "It should help the swelling. And some aspirin for the pain." 

Achilles glances at him. He would've expected Patroclus to be demanding answers, drilling Achilles for what tiny sliver of information he'd gotten or berating him for making his friend angry enough to lash out, but he just seems… concerned. Worried about his face more than his mission. It makes Achilles' chest hurt. He couldn't understand how Patroclus was so composed and still compassionate after death. If the roles were reversed, Achilles would be tearing up every inch of this town for clues with no regard for the people around him. 

"I'll be alright for right now." He feels funny. It was unusual for anyone to care about Achilles like this. Like he was a human. His dad never seemed too concerned when he'd scraped his knees and broken bones as a kid, chalking it up as normal kid stuff that Achilles would get over on his own time, and his mother would glare at him coldly as if she hated the reminder her son wasn't untouchable. It's… nice to have someone who cares for his well being. 

Patroclus looks doubtful, but his hand comes back to rest in his lap. "What exactly happened between you guys?" he asks again 

Achilles hums as he recalls that afternoon, tapping his finger against his chin. "Well, let's see. I met your girl-" 

"Best friend. Not my girlfriend."

"-friend in the cafeteria like we planned. I asked her what she knew about you. She told me. I explained the best I could that I thought you were dead-" 

Patroclus puts his head in his hands. "You didn't."

"I did, and she went ballistic. When I tried to give her proof, she punched me and told me to never come near her again."

His friend stares at him for a long moment. "You told her you see me as a ghost haunting your house." It's not as much of a question as it is an exasperated statement. Seriously, was mind reading a part of ghost abilities or was Achilles just that predictable? 

"I mean, I was _trying_ to get her to listen to me-" 

"Okay, let me get this straight." Patroclus counts off the sequences of events on one hand. "You meet a girl whose best friend has been missing for six months." One finger up. "You tell her that said friend- who has known her since _first grade_ , mind you- is dead." Two fingers. "You then proceed to give her 'proof' by saying he's an apparition in your bedroom." Three. "And then you're offended she would hit you in response." Patroclus looks unimpressed. "Did I miss anything?" 

Achilles pouts. It's all he can do, really, when Patroclus was glaring him down so harshly. He'd hate to see the guy when he was alive and fully capable of showing his disappointment. 

"She didn't need to punch me in the eye," Achilles grumbles. 

Patroclus nods thoughtfully. "She did mess up a perfectly good face." He sounds genuine, and it makes Achilles feel warm with discomfort. His shoulders hunch to hide his burning cheeks and ears from his friend's view. People complimented Achilles all his life, but it felt… different when it was Patroclus saying those things. He wasn't the parade of adults wishing their own child was more charming and athletic, or the kids in school who wanted to bask in Achilles' popularity. Patroclus was just Patroclus, and Achilles liked that. 

Although, he prefers when his friend is berating him and not looking him over with such intense concern. 

Achilles would rather change the subject to something other than his stupidity and the throbbing eye he had to put up with. "I got a little bit more information from her," he says. His heart aches with sadness when Patroclus' eyes light up. How cruel the world must be for someone to be excited to learn about their own death after it happened. 

He tells Patroclus the bits and pieces he'd managed to get before thoroughly ruining any chance of being able to talk to Bri again: that they'd been together before school, Bri's insistence he wouldn't run away without her (to which Pat nodded and murmured a soft agreement), Patroclus had texted her and was never heard from again. Achilles doesn't mention Patroclus and his crush. It feels inappropriate, somehow. Did Patroclus still care about that person the same way? Does he even remember them? Achilles just figures that dead people have more pressing matters to worry about than navigating their earthly romantic relationships. 

His friend's eyes grow wide when Achilles recalls the text. There's a flash of something, but it's gone before Achilles can place what it is, replaced with a more strained version of Patroclus' relaxed demeanor. "Anything else?" he asks. His tone is clipped. 

"Did you recognize anything?" Achilles counters. "Why you might have been in trouble? Even the smallest detail that could help-" 

"No," Patroclus interrupts. Achilles has only known him a short time, but he already picks up that there's something off. He seems… restless, only half there with Achilles. And maybe it's true, because his form flickers in and out of existence. "I… there must be more, someone has to know…" Patroclus' voice sounds like he's talking into a running fan. It's garbled and tinny, and Achilles worries his friend is going to have another breakdown like the first time he'd learned his fate. 

"Pat," Achilles calls him gently. Patroclus' fingers are curled in on his hands beside him on the bed. Achilles couldn't exactly touch him, but he puts one hand on top of Patroclus'. It goes right through him, of course- the only proof that Patroclus isn't an illusion being the hairs on Achilles' arm standing on end at the contact, but it makes Patroclus calm down enough to look up at his friend fearfully. "We have to take this one day at a time. I'll be there with you every step of the way, alright? You're never going to be alone again. We're gonna figure it out together." 

Patroclus glances down at their joined hands. His own fizzles as if it's a reflection in still water and Achilles had disturbed it. "I'm scared," he admits quietly. "What if the truth is more painful than not knowing? But…" He shakes his head. "But I can't continue on like this without any idea what happened to me. It eats me alive every waking moment, that huge gap in my memory. The what ifs and the doubt and confusion. It's this horrible balance, trying to weigh the consequences so I can choose one over the other." When he looks at Achilles again, Patroclus has that same sad look in his eyes that he'd had the first time they met. One of utter hopelessness. "It sucks, Achilles. I'm not sure how long I can keep doing this before I lose it." 

_You have to_ , is on the tip of his tongue. He'd have to learn eventually. It was inevitable, as Achilles had every intention of finding out for himself even if Patroclus decided he didn't want to know. 

But Patroclus didn't need the truth right now. He was broken and lost, and Achilles was grounded enough for the both of them at that moment. 

"I don't think this room really helps much," Achilles says gently. Patroclus had been confined in it for six months, not knowing if he was alive any longer and wondering why he'd been abandoned. This wasn't the best place to try to talk him down, not when the walls were filled with terrible memories. "Do you have anywhere you like to go? Somewhere to wind down and just… I don't know, exist without all the bullshit?" 

Patroclus runs his fingertip along the back of Achilles' hand. A shiver runs up Achilles' spine. It tickles, like the faintest brush of a cat's whiskers against his skin. "I know a place," he says after a moment. "I used to go sometimes after school. It's a secret, though. Not even Bri knows about it, so… you're definitely going to spoil it for both of us." 

"Ye of such little faith!" Achilles laughs. It earns him the smallest smile from Patroclus. "Cross my heart I'll keep my lips sealed! It'll be between just the two of us." He makes a little X over his chest with his pointer finger. It's a silly gesture, and Patroclus grins a little wider. 

… 

The secret spot is apparently on Achilles' property, but he didn't remember his dad saying anything about cool places nearby. Mostly he'd just boasted about the great school district and a short ten minute drive to the nearest grocery store. 

Patroclus leads Achilles into his backyard. It's a big space with patchy, dying grass and a single large tree in the center. It's naturally fenced in with a ring of trees leading to the forest. 

He gestures for his friend to come closer at the edge of the yard. Achilles approaches and, to his surprise, notices a section of grass flattened from usage and a hole in the shrubbery that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. If Patroclus hadn't shown it to him, Achilles would have assumed it was just a place where animals frequented. 

"I have to go through that?" he asks, squatting onto his knees and peeking in. The hole is pitch black. There's some branches that are definitely going to poke and prod, hanging low with jagged points over the entrance. 

Patroclus copies Achilles' stance, sitting back on his heels and hugging his knees. "It was a little easier when I first found it," he admits with an apologetic smile. Achilles could imagine it now: a little grubby Patroclus, small and plump with childhood, fumbling his way through the hole. His hair would have been as tousled as it is now, and Achilles can't help but think that even as a toddler Patroclus had such a serious demeanor. 

He smiles back at his friend. "I'm always up for a challenge," he says. Patroclus' eyes dance with glee. 

And a challenge it is. Achilles climbs on his hands and knees through the tiny gap. He can barely fit, and the branches from before scrape his arms and legs and scratch at his clothes. For once, Achilles curses having long hair as it gets caught in the knots of wood and sturdy leaves and tugs harshly. He manages to escape with dirt caking his jeans and his hair a ruffled mess. His skin stings from where it was scraped.

Achilles stands up and wipes off his hands. He turns to face Patroclus with a grin when he notices he's already just ahead, waiting patiently. Right… Patroclus could just phase through stuff. Achilles huffs. Not fair. 

"Go any slower and you might be a ghost too by the time we get there," Patroclus teases. Achilles swats at him. His hand goes through Pat and causes his body to flicker, but Patroclus still laughs at his own joke. 

The trees are densely packed with only the holes in the canopy of leaves to provide sunlight. Every direction looks identical and there's hardly any sort of landmarks to mark progress, and Achilles is grateful Patroclus is so sure of where he's going. There might have once been a path that had been worn down by sneakers or bare feet, but it seems that if anything had been there before, time eroded it away. There was no evidence of the boy who lived in this house before. 

Patroclus takes his time despite his taunts. His gaze is cast up at the sky poking through the leaves, eyes half lidded and a small smile on his face. Achilles can't help but stare. He seems so content, so at ease. For a moment, Achilles can let himself believe he's just taking a stroll through the woods with a friend. There's no spirits, no strange disappearances, just them. Patroclus is just his high school friend and nothing darker, and Achilles finally has someone he cares for by his side. 

His friend catches him watching and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry," Patroclus apologizes, "it's been a while since I've gone down this way." The smile is still on his lips and as contagious as ever. When he was alive, Patroclus must have been a ray of hope and joy for his friends. Seeing even the smallest remnant of that, experiencing Patroclus for how he is and not the shell of what he's become… It makes Achilles want to grin and never stop smiling. His cheeks warm at the thought. 

"It's okay," he murmurs. "It's nice out here." It's no lie. The air had been muggy and sticky outside, but the trees provided some coverage from the sun beating down. There's a breeze that rustles the branches overhead and give relief from the summer heat. 

They walk together in a comfortable silence, save for the few instances Patroclus points out a tree with good climbing branches or a spot he'd once watched a family of deer pass by. Nothing is ever really awkward with Patroclus. Whether it's because their situation was so bizarre, or because Patroclus was good company and Achilles felt so at ease with him… he isn't really sure. They clicked, that much was certain. 

After some time, the trees begin to thin out and the shrubbery gives way to rocks and sand. Patroclus floats to a break in the flora. It's an arch made by two tree trunks, and he stops just before it to let Achilles go first. "Right through there," Patroclus tells him, but Achilles already knew. There was an arrow made of seashells on the ground and a lantern covered with pollen hanging in the branches. Patroclus. 

When he steps through, the breath is caught in Achilles' throat. 

His new home was an island. That had been about the only thing Achilles looked forward to. What he didn't know, however, was how close his house was to the shore. Achilles had asked his dad if they were going to get a beach house only to be shot down. It's too expensive, he'd said. Why spend extra money to be on the ocean when it was only a short drive? So his father must not have known about this. 

It's a small stretch of shore, only a half mile or so but it feels like forever. It mirrors the backyard in that it's also bordered with a line of trees. Tied to one of the trunks is a line connected to a paddle board, and more lanterns hang from the branches. The ocean laps gently at the sand and splashes up against an outcrop of rocks. 

"Patroclus," Achilles murmurs. 

"It's my slice of paradise," Patroclus says fondly. " _Was_. I'm passing it onto you now."

There's evidence of Patroclus everywhere: a circle of rocks around the remains of a blackened campfire, buckets with plastic shovels tucked into a basket hidden in the trees, a towel hung up on a makeshift laundry line. No amount of time spent here, no changes made by Achilles could ever make this place truly his. 

"Our slice of paradise," Achilles corrects gently. "This is as much yours as it is mine, Patroclus, no matter what state you're in." He turns to look at his friend, whose smile is shaker than before. Patroclus meets his gaze with a soft look on his face. 

Patroclus hesitates, but he soon nods slowly. "Ours." 

Achilles is just not one for sentimental stuff. He isn't mushy, has never been great when girls gifted him Valentine's cards or when his dad gave him praise. It made him feel awkward. Like he was crawling out of his own skin and couldn't find a rock to hide under fast enough. Hugs were fine, physical gestures understandable and sometimes wanted, but words were so much more… intimate. Like Achilles was opening a window into himself and letting every part of him be exposed. 

So he quickly takes off his shoes and socks before sprinting to the ocean, whooping with joy the whole way. 

Achilles splashes into the water and shrieks at how cold it is. It's August, for Christ's sake! Surely it should have warmed up by now? 

"I've been lied to, Patroclus!" Achilles shouts as his friend makes his way over. He shivers and rubs his arms despite the summer sun overhead. "I'm going to freeze!" 

"I'm not the one who told you to get into the water," Patroclus points out with a snort. He joins Achilles' side, feet in the water. The ocean doesn't part where he stands and the waves pass through him. "Feels fine to me." 

"Well, that's because-!" Achilles notices the smirk on Pat's face. "Shut up! You have no say in the matter, ghost boy." 

Patroclus laughs at the attempt to insult him. "Yeah, well I can still do this." He moves his hands like he's pushing something, and Achilles is assaulted by a large wave of water. His shirt is soaked and his hair hangs in sad, damp ringlets around his face. If he wasn't cold before, now he's definitely freezing. 

"How can you do that?" Achilles asks between chattering teeth. He hugs himself tightly. "Move stuff, I mean. I can't feel you when you touch me-" Patroclus' smile falters. "-but you can do stuff like splash me?" 

His friend looks down at his own hands. "I'm not entirely sure," he admits. "It's easy enough to move through inanimate objects, but with people it's like… moving through Jell-O." He frowns. "It's warm and strange. And as far as moving objects, I can do it, but it takes a lot of energy."

Achilles smacks the water and tries to splash Patroclus as he finishes. His friend gives him an unamused look. 

"How much energy?" Achilles asks, mostly to prove he was listening. 

"It's like…" Patroclus taps his chin in thought. "Like, rolling the ball in your room was as if I were jogging pretty fast. I'm out of breath and my muscles feel a bit sore. Doing bigger stuff like making things float feels as if I just ran nonstop for hours." He shrugs. "I don't understand it completely, but I've been trying to perform some experiments." Achilles hums. Well, that explained why some of his trophies had fallen onto the floor out of nowhere and why his dad kept complaining about the TV remote being on the wrong shelf. 

Achilles walks back to the sand and sits just out of reach of the tide. The water barely touches his toes before receding back into the ocean. Patroclus remains in the water, gaze fixed on the horizon. 

"What's the biggest ghost thing you've done?" Achilles asks. He traces his finger in the sand. 

"I pushed a chair over," Patroclus replies. "It left me feeling like I got hit by a bus though. I had to recover for a little bit." Ah, Achilles did remember one of the dining room chairs had toppled over. He thought maybe his dad had just run into it and hadn't bothered picking it back up. 

Achilles writes his own name in the sand, tall and bold. It looks strange by itself. Something is missing. 

"Do you think you could go bigger?" Achilles starts to write more. 

Patroclus turns to him with a frown. "I'm not entirely sure. I don't think I could ever be able to hurt someone, if that's what you-" 

"It isn't," Achilles interrupts. Patroclus would never, and Achilles wouldn't dream of asking him to try. 

He finishes his second word, right under his name. _Patroclus_. Yes, now it looks complete. Pat finally joins him in the sand. 

"Do you think we would've been friends if things were different?" Patroclus asks. His finger runs along the indentations of Achilles' handwriting. It takes Achilles by surprise. He looks up, startled, into the concern etched on Patroclus' face. 

A different life? It's difficult to fathom, yet Achilles had found himself wondering about it on more than one occasion. A life where he'd walk the same halls as Pat, eat lunch beside him, invite him over to stay the night and hang out during the weekend...

"I do," Achilles says. 

Patroclus huffs a breath of laughter and lays on his back. "You're lying."

Achilles stiffens. He plants one hand beside Pat's head and leans over him until their faces are inches apart. The air changes. It seems colder, the breeze more sharp as it cuts into Achilles' skin. He isn't sure if it's the weather, or if it has something to do with the way Patroclus stares up at him in unmasked confusion. 

"I've never meant anything more," Achilles whispers. "We'd be friends no matter what, Patroclus. It was fate." _Pa-tro-clus._ Each syllable pronounced definitely. Achilles doesn't know why he's moved like this, but he's also never really been one for thinking through his emotions. 

Patroclus' brown eyes are huge. His gaze flits from Achilles' own to his mouth. There's… there's something there. It wasn't noticeable at first, but it's been itching at the back of Achilles' mind as the days progress. It's odd, not something he knows. Achilles feels it in his gut as he watches Patroclus' eyelashes graze his cheek when he blinks, and he can't help but wonder if Patroclus feels it too-

His friend's form blinks out of existence and pops up a few feet away, sitting up rigidly like a pole. Achilles isn't sure if it's a trick of the light from the fading sun, but he swears Patroclus' face is redder than before. "We should get back before the sun sets," Patroclus blurts. Could ghosts even blush? 

Disappointment twists his stomach like a towel being wrung. Achilles wasn't expecting… well, he wasn't expecting to be so blunt with Patroclus, but he also didn't expect Pat to be so timid. It wasn't like Achilles was ever anything but honest with him. 

Patroclus turns back to the woods, already drifting away. Achilles needs to keep his attention. He doesn't know why, but it feels like the most important thing at that very moment. "Pat-" he starts, reaching out and grabbing for his friend despite knowing it was useless.

Except. 

It wasn't? 

There's soft skin where Achilles touches for the briefest moment, and his vision explodes with a blinding white light. 

_"You're a disgrace."_

He can make out a taller figure, one that he knows is his dad. But it couldn't be. Achilles' father never talked down to him, not once. 

_"I give you everything, lay out the world for you, and you can't even get this right."_

The man turns, and his features are dark and rounded like Patroclus'. They don't look too similar, but they have the same nose and the same complexion. His glare comes into focus, and Achilles realizes he's seen the same furrowed gaze and straight-set lips on his friend. 

_"I… I'm sorry,"_ a small voice manages to escape from Achilles lips. It's familiar, but it sounds nothing like his own. _"I didn't ask for this-"_

_"Leave me, Patroclus. You're no son of mine."_

The touch is gone in an instant. Achilles stumbles back a few steps, and he sees Patroclus shudder and grimace as he falters. His arm tingles, fingertips numb with electricity. He feels white hot and freezing at the same time. 

Patroclus bends over and puts his hands on his knees, exhaling roughly. "What… was that?" Achilles asks hoarsely. He shakes his hand out to get some feeling back into it. 

His friend looks up at him. "You saw that too?" Patroclus seems horrified. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." Achilles runs his hands through his hair. Long and curly, not like Patroclus' flat waves. He's in his own body. It's still setting in that he might not have been for a bit. "Was that your dad?" Achilles asks, but he already knows the answer. He'd felt Patroclus' immense guilt, the anguish that made his chest tighten and squeeze like a vice. There had been the smallest glimmer of hope that he'd be accepted, and Achilles still felt that sadness at it being crushed. Who else could make Patroclus feel like that? 

Patroclus curls his hand into a fist and rubs his wrist. Maybe he'd felt the same bolt of energy. "It doesn't…" He hesitates. Achilles would never push him to open up, but he doesn't need to. Patroclus takes one look at the concern on his face and relents. "It was," he admits. 

"What a _dick_ ," Achilles huffs angrily. He doesn't know how Patroclus could be so depressed in that memory. If anything, he should be furious! Patroclus was a wonderful person and an even better friend. No one should ever speak to him like that. "If I had half a brain, I'd track him down and go knock on his door to demand an apology!" 

"He doesn't know you, Achilles," Patroclus points out tiredly. "You'd get the cops called on you." 

Achilles stomps his foot. "Well he had no right to treat you like crap!" he snaps. Patroclus closes his mouth and frowns deeply. His gaze is drawn to the ground. Surely he didn't believe any of that, right? "Pat," Achilles says. His tone is serious, eyebrows drawn together in concern. "You're not a bad person. Nothing he said is true."

Patroclus laughs shakily. "How do you know that?" he asks, voice high and shaky. "He raised me. I think he'd know me better than anyone else, even you."

"But he doesn't!" 

His friend looks unconvinced. 

"You… you had to hide yourself around him, didn't you?" Achilles tries. He had felt the earth shatter as Patroclus' dad found out… something, Achilles didn't know what. Maybe the secret was buried down so deep that Patroclus wouldn't let it escape even in a memory. "So your dad didn't really know you. Your friends know you, Patroclus. Bri and… and me. We see the real you, not the facade you put up to keep him happy." Patroclus' expression softens, and Achilles takes that as motivation to continue. "So I think I do have some more sense than that… that asshole." He's not used to insulting people. Achilles has to practically spit the word out from his mouth like something foul tasting. 

Patroclus snorts a soft breath of laughter. "Are you finished?" He sounds faintly amused. 

"Not even!" Achilles shouts. "You're great, Patroclus! I've never met anyone like you- and not just because you're dead. And if you listen to anything he says, then you're… you're dumb too, okay!" 

His friend's body trembles as he keels over with a hand on his stomach. Achilles is at his side in an instant, asking if something is wrong or if he's in pain. But Patroclus isn't shaking, he's laughing silently with his hand pressed to his mouth to keep his laughter from bubbling out. 

"God, Achilles," Patroclus snickers, "you should be a motivational speaker."

Achilles' face flushes with embarrassment. So what if he'd been a little eccentric? He'd meant everything he said. "Hey, I was just telling the truth-" 

"I know." Patroclus smiles wider than Achilles has ever seen before. It takes his breath away. It changes his friend's entire face: his doe eyes aren't so sad when they crinkle with joy, and there's a dimple on one side of his mouth that Achilles can't take his eyes off of. "You're a wonderful person. I…" Patroclus lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "I'm sad it took until after I was alive to meet you, but I'm glad we're together regardless."

If Achilles was blushing before, his face is on fire now. "I- yeah, of course!" he sputters. "It's the least I can do after I stole your room, you know?" He pushes past his friend to start the trek home and, possibly, bury his head in the dirt so he could rot there. 

He's worried Patroclus will take that the wrong way, maybe read it as Achilles saying they're only friends because they were stuck together, but the spirit just chuckles behind him. "Sure, Achilles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentine's day, everyone!!! love you all <3
> 
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	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bri is recruited to the crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tws: homophobia (sort of internalized, mostly from the world), the usual sadness, improper use of a ouija board

Operation Make Bri Stop Hating Achilles was a go. 

Patroclus had taken it upon himself to train Achilles on how _not_ to piss off his best friend. _How exactly was he even going to approach Bri, considering she'd punched him and told him to never cross her path again?_ Achilles had asked and, at the time, he’d thought it was a pretty good point. His question had been waved away with the reminder that it was Achilles' own fault for being so dumb in the first place. 

"Before you," Patroclus explains, standing in front of Achilles with his hands behind his back, "Bri was the best person I've ever known. You're going to do your best damned job to get her to like you again."

Achilles sits on the step leading to his back porch, investigation notebook in his lap and pen poised to take notes. He'd complained before that Bri etiquette didn't count as clues and had been promptly shut up by his friend with a cold look that had him grabbing his book with a sigh. "Before me?" he echoes. "Am I the new best person, then?" Achilles is touched at the thought. Patroclus sputters in protest. 

"N-No! I just mean you two are both good people, that's all." Achilles pouts. 

"I'm not even, like, one percent better than her?" 

"No. You're the same."

Achilles isn't used to being compared to someone else. It makes his head rush with unexplained emotions. Jealousy, maybe? But Achilles had never been jealous before, and surely he wasn’t going to start now. "Point one percent? She did punch me in the face." A very convincing argument, if he did say so himself. "Just so you know, I wouldn't do that to her if she were the one solving your disappearance-"

"Anyways." Patroclus is see-through in the afternoon sun, his form less opaque than usual with light hitting him so directly. Achilles has to shield his eyes with one hand and squint to be able to make him out clearly. It didn't help that half his face was swollen. "I've thought this over, and I think the only way to convince Bri you aren't insane is by giving her information only her and I would know."

Ah! That could work. There was a reason why Patroclus was the brains of this duo (besides the whole… “him being the one whose death they were trying to solve” thing). "So… what? You tell me her darkest secrets?" Achilles didn't exactly know how to feel about that. He didn't love the girl considering their only interaction had ended with him getting a black eye, but exposing stuff she'd only told her best friend seemed a little mean. 

Patroclus shrugs. "Not exactly." He drifts to the ground beside Achilles. "Just like random things only her and I would know, like what she got for her fifteenth birthday- underwear, by the way, her parents had left all her good presents behind when they went on vacation." Achilles writes that down quickly. "Or her order at that sandwich place on Fifth Street: the turkey and Swiss with extra black olives and no tomatoes."

If someone went up to Achilles with this sort of information, he isn't sure what he'd do. Run? Call the police and report a stalker? Hopefully Bri was less of a skeptic than she'd come across. "Anything about you I could tell her?" Achilles asks. "As of now, I'm a bit concerned she's just going to file a restraining order against me and call it a day."

His friend leans back on his hands and thinks. "Um, my favorite animal is a dog."

"Very original," Achilles says. 

"I take my coffee black."

"Wow, gross, maybe you did deserve an early death." Patroclus turns to shoot him a nasty look, but the corner of his mouth is quirked up in a smile that ruins any chance of intimidation. "Something more," Achilles prompts. "That's all very generic stuff that could easily be lucky guesses."

Patroclus huffs. "I don't know. I'm not a very interesting person, Achilles. I spent my whole life in this dumb town." Achilles can't argue with him there. This island was a terribly boring place. He couldn't imagine growing up here with nowhere to go except his backyard and the single Walmart. There wasn't even a theatre nearby, only accessible by driving over a large bridge. 

Achilles lays on his back and stares up at the sky. It's blue and so painfully clear of clouds that he has to squint. 

He feels as if he knows so much about Patroclus, but at the same time… there were so many unanswered questions. Achilles knew Patroclus as the ghost he shared his room with, his friend whose afterlife he'd fix no matter what it took. But otherwise, he didn't know anything much more personal. What was his favorite movie? What did Patroclus used to do for fun? What sort of trouble did he get up to as a kid? 

"There must be something," Achilles insists. He isn't sure if he's trying to reassure Patroclus or himself. Perhaps both. 

Patroclus lays beside Achilles, pillowing his head on one arm. Achilles turns to face him and finds his friend looking at him thoughtfully. He tended to do that- stare at Achilles when he was trying to think. It had been alarming at first, but Achilles grew to stop minding it. He’d learned to meet Patroclus’ gaze and wait for him to speak what was on his mind.

"Well," Patroclus finally says, "there might be one thing. Pay close attention." 

… 

_You: hey look, can i just talk to you? **(!)**  
You: im really sorry for the other day **(!)**  
You: i can make it up to you, i swear **(!)  
(!): Message(s) unable to be delivered. Try again?**_

Achilles sighs and shoves his phone into his pocket. Of course she’d blocked his number. He couldn’t exactly blame her. Achilles cringed every time he replayed his half-baked explanation in his mind.

He got strange looks every time someone did a double take and noticed his black eye, which made it that much more difficult to try and find Bri without making a scene. Kids would stop and stare at him or whisper to each other, they’d part to different sides of the hall when Achilles walked by. Patiently he endures it. Once Achilles managed to get Bri to listen without trying to murder him, it would pay off. He could put up with the unwanted attention for now.

The last bell for the day rings, and Achilles is out of his seat and halfway out the door before his teacher can yell at him that she was the one who dismissed the class and not the bell. He has somewhere to be- physics could wait for another time. 

Patroclus’ instructions are engraved in his head after repeating them to himself all day: across the street from the school and to the left, down the hill. There was the softball field nestled at the bottom of the decline. The girls team practiced on the boys’ off days, so they rarely had any need to use the second pitch. Instead, it had become a hangout place for kids after school. As Achilles rounds the top of the hill, he sees a group of girls standing around the bleachers talking to one another. 

Bri has a posse of girls that followed her around like a gang, Patroclus had explained. Freshmen she picked up and took under her wing, outcasts that Bri offered out her hand to. Bri had been lonely the first few years she moved to the island, her only friend Patroclus as she slowly learned English. It was knowing what it felt like to be abandoned that drove Bri to help others who had been lost like her. She was loved by all the girls at the school, and it was rare to see Bri without at least three or four of her friends trailing behind her. The one shot Achilles had before in the lunchroom had been probably the only time he'd ever see her alone. 

As he gets closer, he spots the back of a familiar head of chocolate curls tied in a loose braid. Bri sits on one of the metal seats in the center of her friends, chin propped in her hand and elbow on her knee. She seems lost in thought. 

“Bri,” one of the girls warns her, a blonde with pretty blue eyes that pierce through Achilles like shards of glass. With one hand she shakes Bri's shoulder. She glances up and meets Achilles’ gaze. Immediately, her whole demeanor changes: she sits up straight and glares, gaze filled with hate.

There’s probably fifteen of them gathered around. A few of the girls are passing a lit cigarette back and forth, another couple playing cards. They all come to a halt when Achilles stops a few feet away from them. Achilles is afraid of very few things in life, yet he can’t help but feel a little intimidated with so many girls staring at him. 

"I can go get the principal," another girl with bright red hair whispers into Bri's ear, a little too loudly. She's already on her feet and turned back towards the school. Bri doesn't break eye contact with Achilles, her brown eyes lit with anger. 

Achilles lifts his hand in a weak wave. "Hi," he manages. "I just-" 

"I thought I made it clear," Bri interrupts. "Stay away from me. What part of that don't you understand?" 

The girl holding the cigarette puts it out on the bleacher. The sound of it fizzling out cuts through the tense silence. 

"If I can just have five minutes," Achilles says. He holds his hands out as if taming a wild animal. "Five minutes, and if you don't believe me by the end of that I'll never bother you again."

The blonde girl nudges Bri with her elbow. "You don't really buy into this crap?" she murmurs. Achilles doesn't know why he didn't realize before, but there's the chance Bri told her friends about his tangent. No wonder they all looked at him like he was an eyesore, all on edge and ready to run him out of town. He was probably known as the crazy kid who went on about ghosts and dead friends.

Bri raps her fingers against the bleachers. Her face doesn't give anything away, a blank mask devoid of emotions. Achilles adjusts his backpack strap uncomfortably. There’s nothing to do with his hands, so he clasps them together almost as if in prayer. "Please," he begs, voice small. He hated stooping so low, especially to someone he didn't even know, but this was for Patroclus. Everything was to help his friend. Achilles would do anything to set things right. 

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Three minutes," she says finally. Bri glances at her friends. "If I'm not back in five, go ahead and grab a teacher." Her friends start to argue, but Bri is already getting up and jumping down onto the ground below. She straightens in front of Achilles and lifts her chin to meet his gaze. She's at least a good half foot shorter, but the way she carries herself makes her seem taller. 

This was it. This was the last chance he'd get. Achilles reaches out to take Bri by the wrist, but she yanks her arm out of the way. Okay, so maybe she was still pretty upset. That was understandable. 

He leads them a little bit away from the rest of the group and to a secluded area under the bleachers on the other side of the field. It’s still visible enough to where her friends can be sure he didn’t kidnap her or something, but there’s privacy behind the slats of the metal seats. Achilles ducks under the bleachers and turns to make sure Bri is still following. She stays back at a distance, but she's there nonetheless. 

Bri has her arms crossed over her chest. Her gaze is fixed on Achilles' black eye. "You pack quite a punch," he says. 

"Two and a half minutes," Bri reminds him. 

"Right. Okay." Achilles runs a hand through his hair. Patroclus’ advice plays in his head like a broken record, the lines they’d rehearsed to prepare for any possible outcome. "I know nothing about you, right? I moved here a week and a half ago."

Bri frowns. Whether she's mad or confused he's stating the obvious, Achilles can't tell. "Yeah, so?" 

Good, that was established. Patroclus had explained Bri would only listen if she knew this was backed by reasoning with no room for argument. "So that means there's no way I'd know that when you and Patroclus were in sixth grade, you watched _School of Rock_ together for the first time. At a sleepover. Your house." Bri shifts on her feet. She hugs herself tighter as if defending herself against him. 

"Someone could've told you that," she says, but Achilles swears he can see the beginnings of uncertainty glimmer in her eyes. 

"Sure," Achilles agrees. "But it was your idea to make a secret handshake with Patroclus, something funny and memorable like Dewey's had been."

Bri's fingers twitch at the memory. 

"You guys promised not to show it to anyone. It made your other friends so jealous." Achilles holds out his hand, and Bri takes a step back. "I bet you still remember it even after all this time. Patroclus showed me, and I can prove to you I’m telling the truth."

For a moment, Achilles isn't sure she's going to do or. Bri stands in place, staring at his outstretched hand. She looks unnerved. Her brown eyes are wide, and her lips are parted as if she wants to argue. 

Bri hesitantly moves closer and takes Achilles' hand in her own firmly. 

He'd practiced it over and over with Patroclus the day before, although it had been a little more difficult when their hands couldn't touch. It had taken an hour to get it. A firm handshake first, then Achilles would pull Patroclus close and spin him in a circle like they were waltzing. Every time, it would make Patroclus tilt his head back and laugh at how absurd it was. Achilles would have to yell at him to stop so they could move on to the next step, although he'd have to interrupt his own giggling fit to do so. 

It's not as fun with Bri, who does a circle and almost whips Achilles with her hair. She doesn't move as fluidly as his friend had, doesn't grin at Achilles with unbridled amusement. 

Everything after is committed to muscle memory: they alternate stacking their fists one after the other, high five up high and then down low. Bump wrists, bump shoulders, snap, and then finish with their pinkies linked together between them. 

She’s silent for a long time after. Their pinkies are still hooked, and Bri stares down at them as if a spider is on her hand.

"Oh my God," Bri whispers. Achilles smiles in response. 

Instantly, it's a flurry of questions. How could Achilles know that? Who taught it to him? What was happening? What was he even trying to gain?

"It's like I said before," Achilles says, trying to calm her down, "Patroclus, he…" He can't finish his sentence. How could he? The implications of it all weighed so much heavier on Bri's end. 

Bri stumbles backwards. "None of this makes any sense though," she argues. "Ghosts aren't real, they're only in the movies, and Pat isn't- he can't be dead." 

Achilles gingerly takes her hands. She doesn't fight him off this time. Bri looks up at him, eyes wide and shiny with unwept tears. "Look, I understand it's insane. I do. But you just have to trust me."

She shakes her head slowly. "He wouldn't leave me alone," she whispers, just loud enough for Achilles to hear. He looks away. 

"He wouldn't," Achilles agrees. "That's why we have to figure out what happened to him. He needs closure, and so do you." He's slow, as if Bri is going to bolt if Achilles does anything sudden. Carefully he wraps an arm around her shoulders. Bri flinches at the contact. "You said he was in trouble that day, right? We need to find out what he meant." 

Bri leans into him. It's only the smallest bit of her weight, but Achilles can't help the relief that floods through him. It didn't matter if she didn't believe him as long as there were seeds of doubt sewn into her mind. This was a small victory both for him and for Patroclus. 

"I still don't trust you," she says. Her head comes to rest on his shoulder. "I don't know how you're pulling this off, but I intend to find out."

"Okay, that's fine." Achilles pats her back a little awkwardly. He wasn't used to people not liking him. 

They're quiet for a moment. Bri pulls out her phone and sends a text, probably something along the lines of _call off the calvary_ to her concerned friends waiting for her across the field. She stuffs her phone back into her back pocket and steps away from Achilles, brushing imaginary wrinkles out of the front of her shirt. 

"If this is real," Bri says, "if you're not just some freaky delusional kid who claims to see dead people and has some weird obsession with my friend…" She sighs and holds out her hand in a truce. "I'm sorry for punching you in the face."

Achilles takes it and shakes it firmly. "No worries." Although he really could have done without one eye swollen shut, he got it. "Like I said, you can throw a good punch."

Bri nods knowingly. "Self defense classes," she replies shortly. "I started after… after everything happened." So that explains the change in character that had taken Patroclus by surprise. Achilles feels terribly for her. Losing Patroclus must have been awful, so much so that she felt the need to learn how to fend for herself. When she's vulnerable like this, Achilles can see how her and Pat must have gotten along so well. They looked out for each other. 

She looks Achilles up and down once more. He feels exposed, and he can't help but hunch in a little on himself. "You say Pat is at his- your house." 

Achilles raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, he can't wander very far. We think it's something to do with him being bound to the place." 

Bri still looks extremely unconvinced, but she nods. "Take me there," she says. 

"What?" Okay, he hadn't been expecting her to actually take his word for it. 

"If what you say is even remotely true, I want to see for myself." Bri tilts her chin up in defiance. "So you take me to your house and let me see for myself."

Achilles should feel excited, but he can't help but dread Bri coming over. It was as if she was breaching this world he and Patroclus had created for themselves. There's the strangest concern that her involvement might ruin… something. What exactly, Achilles wasn’t sure what. He knew it was selfish- he should be happy that Patroclus was going to be able to see her again, but Achilles can't help it. "I don't know if you'll be able to see him," he says. "My dad can't."

Bri sets her jaw straight. Achilles can tell no matter what he says, there's no convincing her otherwise. "That's fine. I can work around that. We'll just need to make a quick stop first."

...

Achilles hasn't been so nervous to go into his own home since he first met Patroclus. It takes three tries to fit his key into the lock, Bri sighing loudly with each failed attempt. He finally pushes the door open, and she brushes past him and goes inside. 

"You repainted." He hadn't really considered Bri would know the interior. She looks around, eyes full of nostalgia. "And ripped up the carpets."

"Uh, yeah." He drops his keys in a dish by the front door. What was he supposed to say? Sorry? The eighties charm had been fun while it lasted, but the house was in serious need of help. 

But Bri only nods in approval. "Pat hated those fucking carpets. They never got clean no matter how much he vacuumed." Achilles smiles a little bit at that. He could easily imagine Patroclus fretting over the disgusting pink shag. 

There's movement at the top of the stairs. Achilles glances up and catches sight of Patroclus on the catwalk. He raises his hand in greeting, and Patroclus begins to mirror his action when he sees Bri. 

"Holy shit!" Patroclus says. Achilles glances at Bri, who makes no move. She's busy running a hand along the walls as she steps further into the house. 

So she can't see him either. He’d figured as much, but it still makes Achilles' heart sinks. Patroclus is downstairs in an instant and by her side, the widest grin on his face as he floats in front of her. "Bri! Bri, it's so good to see you! I missed you so much-" She walks right through him and into the kitchen. 

"Ugh, couldn't you get rid of the backsplash too?" she complains. Patroclus' form fizzles. He stares at her openly, mouth parted in shock. 

"I'm sorry," Achilles whispers. Patroclus looks torn apart like the first time they'd met. He doesn't respond, only watches Bri turn around and frown at Achilles. 

"Excuse me?" 

Achilles looks at Patroclus. His smile has faded, replaced by his usual glum demeanor. He trails behind Bri like a kicked puppy. "Uh, Patroclus is right here-" 

"Why can't I see him?" Bri demands. She marches forward and stands beside Achilles. "I'm his best friend. That makes no sense." 

"It’s like I told you before-" 

"Where exactly is he?" she interrupts. Achilles is already growing irritated with her, but he tries to calm himself for Patroclus' sake. 

Achilles steps behind Patroclus' faded form. His friend glances from him to Bri in confusion. "Here." Achilles gestures to the space in front of him.

Bri takes a step forward. For a moment, it almost looks as if she can actually see Patroclus. She seems to size him up, looking directly where he is in Achilles' field of vision. "Patroclus," she says, "this better all be real, because now I'm in this guy's house talking to thin air like I've lost my damn mind." 

"Tell me about it," Patroclus sighs. Achilles can't help but snort. 

"What's so funny?" Bri says, glaring through Patroclus and at Achilles. She probably thought he was making fun of her, breaking the act Bri was so determined to unveil. 

Achilles smiles a little. "He said 'tell me about it.'" For some reason, that seems to move Bri. Her eyes widen a bit. Achilles figures Patroclus must have been just as sarcastic when he was alive. 

The front door clicks unlocked, and they all turn to watch as Achilles' dad steps through with grocery bags in tow. He closes the door and looks at Achilles and Bri in surprise. "You didn't tell me you were having a friend over," his dad says, taking off his shoes and setting them to the side. 

"I didn't know I was either," Achilles replies, shooting Bri a look. 

His dad seems happy enough. He sets the bags on the counter and turns to Bri with a wide smile. "You're one of Achilles' classmates?" he asks, eyes shining with joy. It was like he was meeting his son’s prom date and not the girl who had decked him in the face. Admittedly, he did still think Achilles had just been stupid enough to run into a bike. 

"Sure. I'm Bri." His dad looks at Achilles with unmasked surprise, and he worries immediately about the implications behind his gaze. Bri shakes his dad's hand firmly. 

"How long have you two known each other?" 

Okay, too much awkwardness. Patroclus was beginning to snicker, and Bri looks at Achilles as if she wishes she could kill him a hundred times over. "We're gonna go up to my room, Dad," Achilles interjects before this can go any further. "We, uh, are working on a group project, so don't disturb us." 

"Oh, a group project?" his dad narrows his eyes in suspicion and smiles wider. Why was he even smiling? What was so funny about a- _oh, God, please don't do this to him._ Patroclus covers his mouth and shakes with laughter, and Achilles decides the entire world is completely turned against him. This was too much. He could deal with a ghost haunting his house and a girl giving him a black eye the first week of school, but definitely not this. 

"Yep, super important stuff. Let's go Bri." Achilles takes her wrist and begins to lead her to the staircase even as Bri protests and tries to yank her arm away. 

"Keep your door open!" his dad calls as they climb up the stairs. 

"Gross, Dad!" Achilles shouts back, face twisted in disgust. Bri gags behind him. 

Once they're in the safety of his room, Bri whips around and glares at Achilles. "I would _never_ -" 

"Oh, me neither," Achilles blurts. Girls were nice and all, but he's a little too put off by Bri. 

"-Literally anyone but you," she finishes. Bri throws her backpack on the ground with an angry huff. She unzips it and pulls out something wrapped in a plastic grocery bag. She'd made Achilles sit outside as she went in for her stop before going to his place, so he wasn't entirely sure what she had bought. Bri unwraps the bag and produces a box that makes Achilles tilt his head to one side. 

"A Ouija board?" Weird, considering she'd been so skeptical in the first place. Achilles watches as she takes out a couple of tea lights and some matches before crumpling the bag into a ball and tossing it into his trash can. 

"You must have really shaken her," Patroclus says out of nowhere. Achilles jumps in surprise as his friend materializes by Bri's side, looking over her shoulder. "She would never have bothered in the past. Bri doesn't do spooky horror stuff." Patroclus has his arms crossed over his chest. He looks impressed, as if he hadn't actually expected Achilles to have convinced Bri. Very unfair on his part. 

"Look, I don't normally do... spooky horror stuff," Bri grumbles. Patroclus smiles at Achilles. _Told you so._ "I don't even really know if I believe _this_ crap works, but if it's for Pat I'm willing to try anything." Her friend looks moved, visibly softening. 

Achilles' stomach churns as Patroclus sits across from Bri and watches her unbox the board and read its instructions. He wants to throw something at the wall. Patroclus was happy. His friend was here, just like he'd wanted. He didn’t have to just put up with Achilles as his only person to talk to anymore. So why did Achilles feel his skin crawl at how Patroclus looked at her? Why did the room feel so warm? 

_You're jealous._ The realization hits him like an oncoming train. Achilles didn't _get_ jealous. Not when he was younger and didn't get the toys he wanted for his birthday, not when he saw other kids' marks that were higher than his own, not even when he saw other kids with families that weren't broken to pieces. This was… terrible. He hated this feeling, the wrench in his gut and the desire to say something to take Patroclus’ attention away from her. 

"We need the lights off," Bri says, scanning the instructions in her hands. Achilles found it strange that Ouija boards came with a paper printout as if it were just a game of checkers and not some form of welcoming spirits into their world. 

"I don't honestly mind them on," Patroclus comments, reading the instructions with her. Achilles opens his mouth to argue, but Bri gives him a look that invites no room for discussion. Patroclus shrugs helplessly, and Achilles flips the switch with a sigh. 

Bri sets her tea lights up around the board and strikes a match to light them one by one. If Achilles didn't know they'd be talking to the ghost sitting only a few feet away, he'd be a little unnerved. His room is eerie enough with the creaking of the house settling and tree branches tapping his window. "It says to create an ambiance," she explains, flicking the match to put it out. 

Achilles frowns. "I don't see why this is necessary if I can talk to him," he admits. Bri looks at him like he's said something outrageous. 

"Because I still don't believe you," she says simply. 

Patroclus groans and puts his head in his hands. Achilles glares at him. It wasn't Achilles' fault! Maybe if he had less superstitious friends in life, this would be a hell of a lot easier. Patroclus just needed more gullible people around.

"This way, if you're telling the truth, I can talk to Patroclus myself." Bri takes the planchette out of the box and sets it on the board. "No offense, but I hardly know you and I still can't help but think you're just a bit crazy."

Achilles rolls his eyes. "Yeah, none taken." 

She places the eye of the planchette over the G on the board. Bri gestures for Achilles to come closer. Hesitantly, he moves so he's sitting across from her on the floor. He reaches out to put his hands on the planchette, but Bri shakes her head. "Just me." 

"But isn't there usually more than one person playing?" 

Bri shrugs. "Maybe, but you could move the thing around yourself. I want to be sure none of this is coming from you." Okay, fine. Fair enough. Achilles sets his hands in his lap. 

Patroclus is obviously not entirely sure what to do either. He takes a seat next to Achilles and reaches down to put his hands on the planchette. Achilles never thought he’d be able to see both sides of the people playing with a Ouija board. It’s… strange, to say in the least. It feels wrong.

Bri takes a deep breath and shakes out her wrists as if mentally preparing herself. She puts her hands on the planchette as well, fingers phasing through Patroclus'. "Okay," Bri exhales. "Go."

Achilles watches Patroclus fumble with the teardrop shaped playing piece. It won't move under his hands. He pushes and pulls at it, but it remains in place. "It's like a lead weight," Patroclus says frantically. Bri looks up at Achilles, distrust plain as day. 

But Achilles had seen more than enough scary movies to know how this works. "You have to ask a question," he explains. "Or it doesn't work."

Bri rolls her eyes. "Alright, uh… Pat, are you in the room?" 

Patroclus brightens. "Oh! Yes, that helped!" He slowly guides the planchette to the _yes_ in the corner, followed by _hello_ at the top of the board. It must still be difficult to move, because his face is twisted in concentration. Bri's mouth falls open. 

"What the hell?" she whispers. Achilles can't help but grin at his ghostly friend. This was good! This could work. "Um, wow, okay… what happened to you?" 

Patroclus thinks for a moment before moving the planchette once more. _I-D-K._

Bri shakes her head. Her eyes are huge as she stares down at the board between them. Achilles thinks for the first time of how shocking this must be for her. Sure, he could see Patroclus and talk to him as if he were alive in the room with him, but Bri hadn't known what happened to him or where he was for six months until some kid showed up claiming to see the spirit of her dead friend. She'd never given up hope, but she'd also been so destroyed by Pat's disappearance. This was the first shred of light she's had in forever. "What's my favorite color?" 

_Y-E-L-L-O-W._ Patroclus seems to struggle, but he pushes through and looks up in time to see Bri's shaky smile make its way onto her face. 

"I… um, if it's really you, who do you like?" Patroclus scrunches his face at the question. 

_R-E-A-L-L-Y._

"Okay, had to make sure." She covers her mouth with one hand. Achilles thinks Bri might start to cry, but when he looks closer in the flickering candlelight, her smile is so wide it wrinkles her eyes. "How are you?" _M-I-S-S-Y-O-U_. "I miss you too. Every single day." Bri sniffles and shakes her head. "Is Achilles telling the truth? Or is he crazy?" 

Patroclus snorts. _B-O-T-H._ "Hey!" Achilles protests. His friend only grins at him. 

Achilles sits by and watches them talk to each other like they’re exchanging a strange slew of texts and not communicating on a spirit board. Bri continues to ask questions, and Patroclus answers with increasing effort. It’s taking a toll on him to move the planchette around, and Achilles thinks back to Patroclus explaining how difficult it was to move things. _It feels as if I just ran a couple miles nonstop_. Achilles’ concern manifests as Patroclus slows with his responses, the physical effort it takes to move the teardrop piece around the board visible on his friend’s tired features.

“I think that’s enough,” Achilles says after Bri asks for her star signs. Patroclus is heaving with exhaustion. Achilles worries for him, that he might have another breakdown similar to the ones he’s had before. They’d been doing fine so far, but any changes to their routine welcomed new chances for Patroclus’ spirit to alter. Would he start to fade if he grew too stressed? Would he lose himself more? They were questions that neither of them wanted to know the answer to.

But Bri only glares at Achilles. “I don’t need your input.” She turns back to the board. “Pat, do you want to keep talking?” Patroclus tries to move the planchette towards _yes_ , but his arm shakes too violently. 

“Seriously, Bri,” Achilles warns. He tries to put a hand on Patroclus, but it phases through him like usual. His form takes an extra few seconds to stabilize, and Achilles realizes he’s not just scared, he’s terrified. 

“Look, new kid-”

The instructions are open beside Patroclus. He glances at them as if looking for answers. His eyes are tired, but they light up when he reads something. Slowly, he moves the planchette in loops around the board. Bri pauses before arguing with Achilles any further, mouth open as she watches the piece move. 

“He wants to stop,” Achilles explains. He passes the booklet to Bri, who looks at it skeptically. There, at the bottom:

_Finishing a seance:_

_If the spirit moves the planchette from 9-0, down the alphabet, or in figure eight patterns across the board, that is a sign to finish the session immediately. Move the planchette over_ goodbye _and cease all communication._

Bri shoots Achilles a glare, but obeys reluctantly. She moves the piece over _goodbye_ , and Patroclus collapses on the floor in a heap. Achilles rushes to his side. “Hey, man, you alright?” he asks. It doesn’t matter if Bri believes him or not, if she thinks this is the ramblings of a madman or a cruel teenager with too much free time. He tilts his head to meet Patroclus’ gaze as his eyelids flutter.

“Doing great,” he manages weakly. His body blinks in and out of view, and his voice sounds static-y. 

Bri is putting the board back into the box, her gaze fixed on Achilles the entire time. “What’s wrong?” For the first time, she doesn’t sound like she thinks it’s all a total lie. She almost looks… concerned.

“It’s just difficult for him to move stuff like that for too long.” Patroclus manages to prop himself up so he’s sitting once more. If possible, he looks even paler than usual. 

Patroclus exhales roughly. He brushes his hair away from his face and keeps his hand over his forehead. “I think I’m gonna take a walk,” he says. It wasn’t too rare for Patroclus to leave and spend some time on his own. Now Achilles knew he’d go down to the beach and sit by the water, watching the clouds pass overhead. A few times Patroclus would come back after being alone for hours, and Achilles would catch the faintest whiff of salt in the air.

Wait… a walk? The beach? 

Achilles reaches out as if he could touch Patroclus. “Could I show her?” 

“Show me what?” Bri asks. Her eyebrows come together in a deep frown.

Patroclus hesitates. Achilles had never insisted on intruding on his personal time in the past, and he seemed wary of letting him start now. “It might help,” Achilles adds. Being somewhere that practically screamed Patroclus was bound to have some effect on Bri’s belief in this all. How could she have any doubts when the evidence of her friend’s presence was all around her?

“Help _what_?” she demands. “I don’t like this-this sharing secrets with my missing friend, new kid.” 

Achilles can see Patroclus’ will falter. They needed more proof to show to Bri, even if she was starting to believe them both. Having more evidence than necessary wouldn’t hurt. 

“Sure,” Patroclus finally relents. Achilles knows it’s difficult for him to open up like this. Their place was special. It pained Achilles to share it with anyone else, and he likes to think Patroclus thinks the same way. “No one else after this.” 

Achilles smiles and nods excitedly. “Promise.”

“Promise WHAT?” Bri snaps  
…

“The ideomotor effect,” Bri says.

“What did you just call me?”

She looks annoyed, as if Achilles should just _know_ everything that comes to her mind. Maybe Patroclus had been able to catch on quickly, but alas, Achilles was only human. “It’s an explanation,” she continues. “People’s subconscious can move something without them truly realizing it, like the Ouija board piece.” Bri frowns. “I want answers, so it makes sense that my brain would try to fill in the gaps for me.”

“Or, you know, I could be telling the truth,” Achilles suggests.

“Or that,” Bri agrees. “But I won’t rule out the possibility you’re lying to me just yet, new kid.” 

“She really doesn’t like being tricked,” Patroclus brings up helpfully. There was no need to. Achilles could very well see for himself.

After a while, Achilles can make out the familiar break in the forest underbrush giving way to sandy terrain. He turns to smile at Bri, but she has her phone in her hand with 9-1-1 dialed and thumb over the call button just in case. Okay, seriously? Achilles wasn’t some sort of axe murderer. This was beginning to get a bit ridiculous.

Achilles steps back and lets Bri go first. He can hear the breath leave her lungs when she sees. 

The beach is the same as Achilles left it: untouched, the marks Patroclus left behind in their little nooks and crannies. Bri gingerly walks onto the beach and spins in a slow circle. Her hands come up to cover her mouth as she takes it all in. The scratches in the tree left behind by a gentle hand, the burnt out lanterns, the pile of stones by the shore.

“It’s all him,” Bri whispers. She brushes her hand against a carving in the tree trunk closest to her. _Pat was here!_ “I can’t believe he kept this a secret all this time.”

Patroclus exchanges a look with Achilles. “I’m sorry,” Patroclus apologizes. “I needed somewhere to clear my head every once in a while when things got… too much.” Achilles relays this to Bri. She doesn’t seem upset at all, nodding her head a bit in understanding.

“He’s sensitive like that. I get it. There’s no need for him to be sorry.” 

She bends down to unlace her shoes and leaves them by the opening in the woods with her socks. Bri walks down to the ocean and stands on the shore. Achilles realizes he can understand why so many people love her. She’s genuine. She loves with her entire heart just like Patroclus. For the first time, he looks on at her fondly similar to his friend. Bri’s brown hair blows gently in the breeze, and her shirt ripples around her waist.

“Comfort her,” Patroclus says, breaking Achilles from his trance. He turns to his friend. Patroclus doesn’t look away from Bri. His eyes are filled with pain, the same desperation that would maim his face when he spoke of missing his mother’s hugs or burying his face in his dog’s fur. “Please. I’d do anything to be able to hold her.” 

Achilles’ heart breaks, not for the first time. He makes his way down the sand and ends up at Bri’s side. She doesn’t say anything as he puts a head on her shoulder, only wraps an arm around his waist. “He’s a wonderful person,” Achilles murmurs.

Bri nods, gaze distant and fixed on the horizon. She lays her head on top of Achilles’. 

“He’s lucky to have had someone like you,” he continues. Bri exhales slowly.

“If this is all real,” she begins, “then he’s very lucky that you’re the one who moved in.” It’s not exactly a compliment, but Achilles will take it.

They watch the waves lap at their feet. Seagulls caw somewhere far off, and boats coast the water on the horizon. Eventually, Bri untangles herself from Achilles and sits by the shore, hugging her knees. He takes a seat beside her. Patroclus hovers close by, staring at the clouds passing the sky. 

“He really loved the ocean,” Bri says quietly. 

“It makes you feel tiny,” Patroclus adds. “Insignificant, but in a way that’s not entirely bad. Like you’re a part of something so much bigger.” 

“I think it made his problems seem smaller. More manageable.” Bri puts her chin on one knee. Achilles glances between the two of them. 

“Is it alright if I ask something?” he says.

“You asked me something just now.” 

Achilles huffs. “Okay, yeah, but you know what I mean.” Bri lifts one shoulder in a shrug. She seems indifferent enough, and Patroclus looks at Achilles curiously so he continues. “Were you and Pat ever, like… a thing?” Bri glances up, eyebrows drawn together. Achilles isn’t sure if she’s confused, so he goes on. “You know, like-” He links his fingers together. Patroclus sputters beside him. “Uh.”

“Yeah, I think I got it,” Bri interrupts before he can embarrass himself any further. She bites her bottom lip. “Is he still there?” 

Patroclus waves. “Yeah,” Achilles says.

“Great, okay. Makes it that much worse.” Bri sighs and stretches her legs out in front of her. She buries her toes in the sand. “No, we never were.” Her head falls back, hair cascading down her back. Bri closes her eyes against the sun overhead. “I had the biggest crush on him from, like, fifth grade until freshman year.” She’s quiet for a moment. “It could never go anywhere, though, so I got over it.” 

“How come?” Achilles prods. She was a nice enough girl, and it seemed like she and Patroclus had been thick as thieves. There was no reason why they wouldn’t make a good couple. If Achilles thought hard enough, he could see Patroclus with her hanging off his arm.

His answer seems to take Bri by surprise. She turns and looks at him for a long time. “He hasn’t told you.” 

Achilles glances at Patroclus out of the corner of his eye. His friend doesn’t meet his gaze. “Told me what?”

“That’s… probably the most realistic thing about this so far,” Bri goes on. “If you don’t know, then it isn’t my place to tell you.” 

The thought that Patroclus was keeping a secret from Achilles set off a spark of anger. There must be a good reason, but he had assumed they were telling each other everything. He faces Patroclus fully, not caring if it was excluding Bri. Patroclus just looks sad. It dampens the fire that had been threatening to burn Achilles to the ground. 

“I don’t need to know,” Achilles says quietly. But when Patroclus holds out his hand, Achilles takes it without hesitation. There’s the same feeling as before, like having the rug ripped out from under him. Achilles is falling, 

falling,

falling.

His vision comes back, but it’s dark around the edges as if he has blinders on. In front of him is Bri. She’s younger, her hair cut in a messy bob and glasses pushed up her nose. There’s something so different about Bri when she’s looking at Patroclus and not Achilles- her gaze is warm like melted chocolate, the smile on her face contagious. In this memory, Achilles feels his expression mirror Bri’s. It had always been difficult not to smile in her presence.

They sit on opposite sides of one of the hallways after classes have let out. The toe of Achilles’ shoes bump against Bri’s. _”There’s something I want to tell you,”_ she says. Achilles looks up from tracing the stars on her shoes with his eyes. Her sneakers were riddled with permanent marker drawings, Patroclus’ name written along the toe cap. 

_”Yeah?”_ It’s his lips that are moving, but Patroclus’ voice rings through his ears. _”What’s up?”_

Bri looks away, and Achilles tilts his head. Is she blushing? It’s not like her at all to be bashful. It makes Achilles nervous. He didn’t like changes, especially not in his friend’s behavior. _”For a while now, Pat,”_ she begins, scratching an invisible mark off her jeans, _“I’ve… I’ve really liked you. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want this to change anything if you don’t feel the same-”_

The rest of her speech fades from Achilles’ ears, like she’s submerged in water. All he can focus on is the void in his gut opening up and threatening to swallow him whole. He feels sick to his stomach, nauseous as a chill settles over him. Achilles swallows and pulls his legs to his chest as if they might defend him from disappointing Bri. 

She’s looking at him expectantly, eyebrows drawn together in worry. Achilles knows she fears what she’s said has compromised their friendship forever, but he’s terrified his own truth might be the final nail in the coffin. 

_”I-I’m gay, Bri_ ,” Achilles says shakily. Her face drops. She’s not disgusted or anything, just visibly taken by surprise. _Disappointed_ rings in his head, a word that was becoming all too familiar in Achilles’ day to day vocabulary. It makes it that much harder to go on. _”I was going to tell you sooner, but I was waiting for the right time.”_ This town, this horrible place he’d been destined to suffer his formative years didn’t take kindly to anyone deviating from the norm. All the locals gathered in the same church on Sunday mornings, and they all cast the same ballots when it came down to voting at the polls. Achilles- no, Patroclus had just been unlucky enough to be stuck here. 

The terror of being left behind, the fear of what it meant to admit one of his deepest kept secrets aloud, it’s too much for Achilles. He rips his hand away from the force keeping him in this memory, and in a rush reality comes crashing back. Patroclus sits in front of him, hand still outstretched. 

He supposes it makes sense. It lined up with what little bits and pieces of his life Patroclus had offered: his dad's disappointment, feeling like he didn't belong. Achilles just can't understand why something silly like who Patroclus found attractive would matter so much. 

"Uh, are you good?" Bri asks. She touches Achilles' shoulder gently. "You sort of zoned out there for a bit."

Patroclus looks out at the sea once more. Surely he didn't think Achilles would judge him? They were friends. Achilles wasn't sure what it would take for that to ever change, if anything could even shatter their friendship, but it definitely wasn't something like this. 

"He showed me," Achilles explains. Patroclus tenses. 

"Showed you..?" 

"Why you couldn't be together." He worries Bri will get angry or defensive, but she just nods. 

Bri draws nonsensical pictures in the sand. "I think he got picked on for liking guys," she says. "But Pat would always say he was fine, even when he showed up to school with cuts and bruises." She traces a heart and hollows out the middle of it. "It drove me up the wall knowing he was keeping it from me, but I think it was Pat's way of trying to protect me."

Patroclus lifts a shoulder. "Just didn't see the point of worrying her," he mumbles. "She had enough on her plate." _But she has even more now that you're dead,_ Achilles finishes in his head. Could this have all been stopped if Patroclus would have just let others in? There was no point in wondering. What’s done is done.

"Do you think they had something to do with this all?" Achilles asks. "The people that picked on him?" He isn't sure if a bunch of high schoolers were cruel enough to hurt Patroclus, but it was the only lead they had. They had to start somewhere. 

Bri hesitates. "Maybe," she admits, "but I don't know who could have possibly…" She trails off. Who could've killed him. 

They sit quietly for a few moments. Patroclus watches a flock of birds pass by overhead. “Does it change anything?” Bri asks.

Achilles draws his gaze away from his friend. “Does what change anything?”

Bri raises her eyebrows. “Pat liking boys. Does it change how you see him?”

What a silly question. Achilles thinks it’s a joke at first, but Bri has yet to be anything but completely serious with him. “Why should it?” He’s genuinely confused. Who cared? Patroclus was just Patroclus. Nothing would alter the way Achilles sees his friend- the boy who sat in the window and mourned the passing days as his memory faded from other’s minds, the boy who would splash him in the ocean and laugh with so much joy like he was still living. 

Patroclus smiles at that and closes his eyes. “Good answer,” Bri murmurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey!! 
> 
> things will probably be picking up speed now! i'm very excited for what the future shall bring for this story... the ending is all planned out, just gotta get through the tough bits.
> 
> also this fic got FANART? can you believe it!!!!! a million thanks to melonshark on twitter for these [awesome pieces](https://twitter.com/melonsharks/status/1362099541252661249?s=20)!!!
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kenzsza/), [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/kenzsza/), or [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kenzsza) for updates or just for fun :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surely some things cannot be completely forgotten?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws: flashbacks to death

Patroclus seems happier, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He hums when he's in the same room as Achilles, and he smiles a lot more. Achilles is excited once he notices the change. It makes Patroclus more human, less like a roaming spirit and more like the high school kid full of life that he should have been. The obvious weight of his situation was still there, but there were moments when Achilles found he forgot Patroclus wasn’t like him.

When Achilles brings it up to Bri at school, she looks amused. “You’re probably the first person he’s been able to confide in besides me,” she explains. “If you’re telling the truth, of course.” Bri tends to make sure she adds that to the end of every sentence. _If you’re telling the truth._ At this point, Achilles is convinced Bri wouldn’t believe him even if Patroclus appeared in front of her and performed a dance routine. 

She comes over a few times a week because she had always felt more at home in Patroclus’ house than her own, and Achilles doesn’t argue. Even when he grows irritated that Bri takes up all of Patroclus’ time trying to find new ways to communicate with him that can’t be disproven by her own logic, Achilles stays quiet. He puts up with the stupid pendulum she uses to ask yes or no questions (Bri stops as soon as she asks Patroclus if she’s the prettiest girl he knows and he says no- she claims it obviously wasn’t working right even with Patroclus snickering beside her). He puts up with begging Patroclus to knock stuff over, even when it breaks more than one of Achilles’ trophies and he has to superglue the head back onto the golden silhouette of himself. It’s worth it to see Patroclus light up every time he sees Achilles walk through the front door with Bri talking his ear off behind him. 

At least with Bri on their team, the search for answers turns into an investigation instead of a desperate grab for straws. She’s smart, Achilles would admit begrudgingly. He’d been at a loss for where to start before she’d become a part of their trio. There were too many variables, too many different paths of research that Achilles could go down. They actually get somewhere every time she comes over with a few books from the library and a new theory of how to help Patroclus.

“I read that ghosts are typically tied to something in this life that they can’t part with,” Bri explains this afternoon. Achilles is tired from taking two tests at school, and he lays on his back in bed staring up at his ceiling. His head is still spinning too fast for him to process what Bri says, but she had ignored his plea to give him ten minutes to take a power nap. 

At the very least, Patroclus is listening. He hovers beside Bri, sitting in midair with his legs folded. "I don't think that's it," he says, shaking his head. "I don't feel particularly tied to anything here."

Over the past few weeks, Achilles has grown used to being the resident ghost interpreter. He knew Bri only ever talked to him because he was her link to Patroclus. Even after she’d been over so many times, Achilles barely knew anything about Bri that Patroclus hadn’t told him. God, he didn’t even know her last name. It wasn’t like she ever wanted to have a conversation if it didn’t involve Patroclus somehow. Not like Achilles could blame her- he'd probably do the same thing if he were in her place. Patroclus was cool enough to suffer going through a middle man to talk to him. 

Achilles relays what Patroclus says, only more tiredly. He shouldn't have stayed up the previous night studying. He would’ve definitely bombed his physics test either way, so he might as well have just slept the extra few hours. 

"How does he know?" she prompts. "Has he, like, considered why he's here at all?" Achilles lifts his head to look at Patroclus. He raises an eyebrow at his friend. Well? 

Patroclus puts his chin in one hand and balances his elbow on his knee. "Of course I have. Every day for hours on end. I can't reach any real conclusion." He sighs. "I don't feel particularly attached to anything." 

Bri taps her chin in thought. "Unfinished business?" 

"Maybe." Patroclus lifts a shoulder. "I don't see myself ever wanting revenge on anyone, though. It's not really my thing."

Okay, this was going nowhere fast. Achilles puts a hand over his face and sighs. He's about ready to throw in the towel for today and gently (see: not very subtlely) tell Bri to go home so he can go to sleep. 

"His body," Bri says. Her voice is small and distant, like she's far away. "Maybe it's because his body was never found, and he's still attached to our world because of it." 

Achilles sits up. He isn't sleepy anymore. “That seems like a possibility,” he agrees. He’d read stories of ghosts who couldn’t pass into the next life because they weren’t properly buried, doomed to roam the earth forever unseen by the living. Wasn’t that, like, a huge overarching thing in Egyptian mythology? Greek mythology? Maybe ancient societies had gotten something right about the afterlife along the way. 

Patroclus looks withdrawn, hunched in on himself and gaze downcast. Achilles couldn’t blame him; talking about his dead corpse was probably a bit unsettling. 

“If we can just figure out where he died-”

“I’ve said it a million times: I don’t _know_ ,” Patroclus grumbles. Achilles repeats what he says before Bri can go on any longer and piss him off more.

Bri leans back on her hands and tilts her head up as she thinks. She always chose to sit on the floor in Achilles’ room- something about not wanting to sit on his bed with him and be any closer than necessary. She’d cringe any time he touched her shoulder to get her attention or pulled her by the wrist. Honestly, they were in eleventh grade. Could she at least _act_ like it? He didn’t have cooties. “You said you guys could, what? Exchange memories?” she asks. 

Achilles sees Patroclus flinch out of the corner of his eye. He can’t admit he hadn’t thought of it before- there had to be something in his friend’s mind that would help them, right? Patroclus couldn’t just _not_ remember the last moments of his life, and maybe all it would take was a little push to be able to recall. But he saw how painful it was for Patroclus to carry on in the world as a bystander. How was Achilles supposed to bring up having him relive his own death? He didn’t feel right adding any more 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Achilles says so Patroclus doesn’t have to. His friend glances at him. There's a glint in his eyes that Achilles has learned means he's thankful. 

But Bri is nothing if not persistent. Achilles could usually admire that in her. Now, though… "This is for his own good," she insists. Her arms are crossed over her chest, chin tilted up. There would be no changing her mind. "If there's even the smallest possibility, we've got to try it."

She's right. Of course she's right, but that didn't mean they should do it. 

He's only ever done it with Patroclus twice, so Achilles isn't even entirely sure how it works. Did he see things against his will? Or was he fully capable of controlling things now, like back on the beach with Bri? 

It's Patroclus who moves first. He takes a seat beside Achilles in bed and holds out his hand. Achilles can see his knee beside Patroclus' through the transparency of his fingers. "Are you sure?" Achilles asks gently. He'd never want to do anything to hurt him, and this seemed to be the biggest way to hurt him ever. 

Patroclus nods, the smallest jerk of his head. "I'm sure." He gives him a sad smile. "I know you wouldn't want to hurt me."

He hesitates, but Achilles reaches down and feels the softest brush of skin against his- it's so faint, he has to focus to even be able to sense it. 

The world turns on its side, and he's no longer in his bedroom but somewhere dark and cold. 

Achilles' legs are tired from running, running, running, his entire body aching. His head pounds like someone is banging a hammer against his skull. He can barely form any thoughts through the pain. Where is he? How did he get here? There had been… someone, something chasing him, and then he was here. He has no sense of where he is or what time it is. There's a shaft of light coming from somewhere above, and he has to squint against the beam of white. 

_I don't want to die here._ He's too exhausted to cry, to ask for help, so all he can do is plead silently with whatever force is listening. Even as he thinks it, Achilles can feel his mind begin to slip as he dips into unconsciousness. It's terrifying, like being pulled under dark waters with no certainty he'll resurface. _I don't want to go like this._

It's cold. It's lonely. Would anyone even miss him? Bri's gentle smile when they shared a joke. His mother's back facing him as she looked out at the sea. His dogs barking and running alongside him in the sand. He'd never see any of that again. 

Slowly. Achilles had always thought death would be swift and painless, but this is agonizing. The fight to stay awake as the freezing cold grips his limbs and paralyzes him. 

Achilles rips his hand away from Patroclus so quickly he falls backwards and rolls off his bed. He hits his head against the floor, but even then it doesn't hurt as much as it had in the memory. This pain is dull and pulsing, bearable. Bri jumps up with a shout and runs over to see if he's okay. 

But Achilles couldn’t care less about the sharp headache he's surely going to have. Bri helps him sit up, a hand on his back as she demands to know what happens. All Achilles can do is stare at Patroclus, who stays sitting on the bed with his back to them. He doesn’t say anything, which is extremely worrying as Patroclus _always_ had something to say.

"Pat," Achilles manages. His voice rings in his head painfully and rattles in his mind. It’s like a pinball bouncing off the sides of his skull. 

Patroclus turns at the sound of his name. His eyes are wide with horror. Achilles knows how terrified he must be, because he’d felt that same terror when he had been in Patroclus’ mind as if it were his own. He says nothing as he fizzles out of existence. One moment he’s gaping at Achilles wordlessly, the next he’s dissipated as if he were nothing more than a fog.

“Hey, you okay?” Bri is asking. Her voice pierces through Achilles’ head, and he flinches at the sound. “You blacked out on me for a bit there.” 

“I’m…” He doesn’t know how he is. Achilles is still numb from the bitter cold. He can barely feel his fingers, flexing them in front of his eyes. He’s alive, he reassures himself. He’s alive, but Patroclus is not. It’s as if the realization hits Achilles for the first time.

She shakes Achilles’ shoulder gently. “You’re really pale. You should lie down.” 

“Patroclus,” Achilles tries again. “I-” 

Bri keeps talking, but Achilles doesn’t listen to a word she says. Something about ice on the bump on his head, taking an aspirin. All Achilles can think about is his friend, all alone in that dark place doomed to die by himself. 

And there was nothing he could do about it.

…

Home seems to be even worse for Patroclus. The rest of the week, Achilles comes back from school to an empty room and the knowledge that his friend is on the beach. Soon, he doesn’t even bother dropping off his stuff at the house and instead heads straight for their spot as soon as he’s off the bus.

“Don’t you ever get bored?” Achilles asks, wondering for the first time why he had never bothered even considering Patroclus might be tired of occupying the same space and being restricted to doing the same old things. “Just… sitting around at the house.”

Patroclus lifts one shoulder. He sits far away from Achilles, off by a bush with flowers in bloom. Soon they’d begin to close and wither away as fall and winter came, but for now their petals were bright with color. Butterflies mingle around Patroclus’ head. “I mean, yeah, sometimes.” He tips his head back. “It’s not terrible, though. I watch whatever you or your dad puts on TV, read over your dad’s shoulder if I’m really dying of boredom.” Patroclus wrinkles his nose. “All he watches are cop shows, and he reads a bunch of biographies. I’ve never unwillingly learned so much about sports celebrities in my life.” Yeah, that sounded about right. Achilles smiles knowingly. “Honestly, I don’t see how you two are related.”

He and his dad looked and acted pretty similar, so Achilles had been told. Green eyes, mischievous smile, obnoxious attitude. Patroclus would have to be the first person to suggest otherwise. “I can leave the TV on in my room if you want,” Achilles offers. His dad didn’t usually go in his room while he was gone, so it wasn’t like he’d get mad.

“Like I’m your pet?” That hadn’t been at all what Achilles meant, but Patroclus shakes his head regardless. “No, I’ll be fine. It just gets old sitting around and reliving the past, I guess.” He rests his chin on one knee. “You know when you think of how you could’ve done something different and wonder about all the possible outcomes? It’s like that, but on crack.” 

An idea forms that Achilles cannot believe he hadn’t thought of before. “Do you think it works the other way around?” he asks, excitement buzzing in his head. 

Patroclus has been trying to see if he could get a butterfly to land on his finger for the past five minutes. It’s been fluttering around him as if it knew he were there, but it wouldn’t settle down. Achilles can’t help but wonder if animals were able to sense Patroclus’ existence. “Do I think what works?” Patroclus echoes. He makes a face when the butterfly goes through his chest in search of a flower to drink from.

“The memory exchange.” That gets Patroclus’ attention. He turns to Achilles, gaze thoughtful. “I can see stuff you show me, but can I show you what I want you to see?” Achilles continues. 

There’s a moment where Patroclus looks worried. His vacant expression from before is gone, replaced with something akin to fear. He’d been off since Achilles had tried to probe his memories before, so he must have been wary of sharing anything else with his friend. They hadn’t brought it up since, a topic that was completely off limits.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Achilles adds. Patroclus didn’t have much freedom as it was, and Achilles wasn’t about to take any more from him. Even if they were bound by whatever fate that let Achilles see and hear Patroclus, he wasn’t going to force him to do anything.

“What would you show me?” Patroclus questions. He tilts his head to one side, bangs falling into his eyes. He’d complained before about dying at the worst possible time, right around the time he should have gotten a haircut. “I would think it’s more important for me to do it to you, all things considering.” Okay, sure, Patroclus was the one with more important memories and he _was_ the one whose death they were trying to solve, but there was no harm in seeing if the directions could be reversed.

Achilles hadn’t even come up with what he wanted to show Patroclus. His life had been interesting enough so far, but nothing really stood out as profound enough to put on display. He taps his chin with one finger as he thinks. “We could just see what happens,” Achilles suggests. Patroclus looks amused, but he doesn’t complain. He holds out one hand, and Achilles reaches out to grasp it. There’s the faintest feeling of skin brushing against his own, and then they’re both thrown into darkness.

It’s more difficult than he’d thought to steer which memories they visit. There’s a flash of colors as Achilles tries to choose which he’d like to relive, almost like a movie being fast forwarded until all its scenes were just a single blur. He feels his body get pushed and pulled in every direction. For a moment, Achilles worries he’ll get torn away by the torrential current of his memories.

_Control it,_ a voice in his mind says. It’s Patroclus, his presence calm in the whirlwind that’s making its way through Achilles’ mind. _Reach for one._ He manages to touch one, and he’s grounded so quickly it makes his stomach lurch.

He’s out on the lake back home- his _real_ home- in his dad’s fishing boat. Achilles remembers it well: he’d spent most of his summers as a kid on the water. When he looks down, his hands are soft and pudgy with youth. There’s also the feeling of not belonging entirely to himself. He can feel Patroclus sharing this moment with him, two souls in one body. It’s incredibly intrusive, but Achilles finds that he’s alright with Patroclus knowing what he’s thinking. He doesn’t fear being judged or criticized. 

His dad is teaching him to fish. Achilles can’t remember what time of year it is or anything special about the day, but he knows he’s young and it’s before he really started to notice the cracks in his parents’ marriage. All he can think about is how happy he is to spend time with his dad and how fun the fish look beneath the surface of the water. Their scales glisten in the sun, and Achilles leans over the edge of the boat to watch them swim.

“ _Woah, woah, Achilles,”_ his dad laughs. There’s a strong hand on his shoulder that pulls him back. Achilles hadn’t even realized the boat was tipping to one side until his center of gravity was restored and they’re rocking back and forth slowly. “ _Okay, listen up. This is an important life lesson for you._ ” 

Achilles doesn’t see why he needs a life lesson. He’s almost ten- double digits! He’s grown up enough to know pretty smart stuff. He says as much to his dad, who smiles wide in response. Achilles feels Patroclus’ amusement like a gentle tug in his consciousness.

“ _One day you’re going to have to look out for yourself, Achilles_ ,” his dad explains. He hands Achilles a fishing pole that’s much too long. Achilles isn’t sure how he’s ever going to be able to cast the line into the water as gracefully as his dad. “ _And you know what?_ ”

“ _What?_ ” Achilles grasps the rod firmly in his tiny hands. His fingers hurt from holding it so tightly. 

“ _I have a feeling others are going to rely on you, too._ ” His father ruffles his hair. Achilles squints as his curls get into his eyes. He hated when his dad did that. “ _You have to be able to take care of them. The world isn’t always about you._ ” 

His father pulls the fishing rod back and with a flick of his wrist, the line is cast over the water. Achilles watches in wonder as it makes its journey. The line glints in the sun like silk from a spider web, and it lands gracefully a good distance away. 

Achilles spends the next few minutes trying to mirror his dad. He baits the hook (with the help of his dad- those things were sharp!) and mimics the casting motion. His line doesn’t go nearly as far as his dad’s, but his father looks impressed nonetheless. 

“ _What if I don’t know how to take care of them?_ ” Achilles asks while they wait for fish to bite. He wasn’t even sure how to work the dishwasher at home, and he was still practicing how to ride his bike without training wheels. How was he supposed to be responsible for somebody else? That seemed like an awful lot of work.

His father hums thoughtfully. “ _I trust you’ll figure it out. You’re a smart kid._ ” 

Achilles feels his line dip with weight. He starts to shriek with glee, but his hand shoots to his mouth to muffle the noise before it can scare away the fish. It takes him and his dad to reel in his catch. A shiny rainbow trout, one that Achilles himself presents to his mom to cook for dinner. She almost looks proud of him for once.

The memory fades away, and Achilles blinks as reality comes back into focus. He’s back on solid ground, his friend by his side. Patroclus looks at him with an emotion Achilles hadn’t seen on his face before. It’s similar to the way his dad looked at him the day he caught his first fish: fond. 

"Nice catch," Patroclus says. Achilles ducks his head and flushes. He had been expecting something a little cooler, like one of his competitions or the time he did a wheelie on his bike. Not this. His dad was extremely lame, especially when he was geared up to go fishing. Achilles had refused to be seen with him as soon as he was old enough to realize waders were _not_ the best look.

"So it works both ways," Achilles changes the subject. It was an interesting enough find, although he wasn't really sure what to do with that information. 

Patroclus nods. "I suppose it might help if you ever need to show me something play by play." Oh, true. Achilles hadn't thought of that. After all, he wasn’t exactly the most reliable source- he’d been told he could get too emotional, as strange as that was. He wasn’t emotional, just… passionate.

He hadn’t thought about fishing with his dad in years, especially not such a specific moment. It made sense, though. Since he was young, Achilles found himself wanting to take care of people he held dear to him. Maybe it was why he had felt pulled to Patroclus and his cause despite the strangeness of it all. He’d never be able to tell his dad, but if he could, would he be proud? Would he say he’d been right all along about his son?

“He would be,” Patroclus replies, and Achilles is one hundred percent convinced he can read his mind. Patroclus gives him a long look, but he neither confirms nor denies. He only smiles.

… 

The dreams started the same night. 

Everything went exactly the same: Achilles brushed his teeth and buried himself under the covers. Patroclus didn't usually stick around in his room out of respect for Achilles. He was somewhere else, probably by the ocean once more. Achilles had lit the lanterns by the beach just in case that was where Patroclus decided to go. It was a routine he’d fallen into most days. Even if he was a spirit, Achilles didn't like to think of his friend sitting alone in the dark. 

Sleep overcame him like a heavy weight, but instead of the usual jumble of nonsense that came with his unconscious mind, Achilles finds himself opening his eyes to Patroclus in front of him. He’s startled, but calms down as soon as he realizes it’s his friend. It’s as if Patroclus is standing in front of a spotlight: everything around him is white, his brown hair illuminated a soft honey color. His friend’s lips are moving, but Achilles can't seem to hear him. 

" _What?_ " he manages. Patroclus gives him the usual smile that makes its way to his face when Achilles does something dumb.

" _I said, are you coming?_ " Patroclus reaches one hand out for Achilles. It's not transparent, and Achilles looks down at it in shock. It's… it's there. He can't see the ground through his friend's palm, and he doesn’t have the usual dull color Achilles had grown accustomed to. When Patroclus clears his throat, Achilles realizes he's been staring. He takes Patroclus' hand. 

It's… warm in his own. Patroclus laughs and pulls him along to their unknown destination. Their fingers tangle together clumsily as if they've done this so many times. Achilles stares at their joined hands as his friend leads him. They're _touching_. Patroclus was alive and happy and they're touching. His palm is soft against Achilles', his fingers long enough to cover the back of Achilles’ hand.

Achilles isn't surprised when they find themselves on their beach. It just seems right. The lanterns are all lit like Achilles had left them, but the campfire is roaring by the shore. Last Achilles had seen it, the firepit was a pile of cinders.

Patroclus skips ahead so he's right in front of Achilles. Sand kicks out from under his bare feet and hits Achilles, but he hardly notices. His friend holds both his hands in his own, and his face is lit up in a wide grin as he swings their arms. Achilles is terrified to let go.

Everything is the same, but… Achilles is so nervous in this strange dreamscape. It’s as if this plane of existence is so much more intense than reality. The water is too blue and Patroclus' eyes are so bright. He takes a step forward, and Patroclus remains in the same place. They're only a few inches apart, and Achilles swears he can feel Patroclus' breath on his face. 

He reaches up hesitantly and places his fingertips on Patroclus' cheek. His skin is so soft, so very tender. He’s warm, nothing at all like the usual cold presence Achilles had come to associate with him. His friend isn't timid or unsure in this dream. Patroclus only smiles encouragingly, tilting his head into Achilles' touch. 

Achilles has no idea what he's doing. It feels wrong. It feels like something he should have done a long time ago. He leans forward, and Patroclus parts his lips, 

and he's sitting up in bed in a cold sweat, panting as if he’s run a marathon. 

His room is still pitch black. Achilles fumbles for his phone and squints as the screen lights up. 4:32 AM. He throws it to the side and puts his head in his hands. 

That was weird. This was weird, right? People didn't dream about kissing their friends. _Achilles_ sure as hell didn't. His dreams were always complete and utter crap, him being chased by the boogeyman or showing up to school in his underwear. Never this. 

But it had felt so real. If Achilles thinks hard enough, he can still feel his hand in Patroclus', can still smell the lingering ocean breeze and see the sun reflecting off his dark curls. He realizes his hands are clasped together, fingers interlocked, and Achilles untangles them in an instant.

He falls onto his back unceremoniously. His heart races in his chest and doesn't seem to plan on stopping. It had just been a silly dream, but Achilles can't stop thinking about Patroclus' smile. He was a few inches shorter than Achilles, and his hair blew so gently in the breeze. The sun had glowed on his skin like polished bronze. Achilles had never seen nature have any effect on his friend. Had Patroclus really been so pretty when he was alive? Achilles had never really thought about it before. 

_There must be a reason for this._ Achilles traces the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling with his eyes, mapping out constellations he and Patroclus had put up together. His heart races when he thinks of Patroclus sitting on his bed and looking up, telling him that no no, that star had to be a little more to the left. _Something’s changed._ If Achilles stares hard enough, he can see Orion. Gemini. He lifts his hand and follows the trails with his finger. His heart slows as he focuses on something other than Patroclus’ face, his rare wide smile that made his eyes squint and nose crinkle. 

The memory exchange. Achilles’ hand falls back down to his side. That must be it. Patroclus had been in his head, seen his memories as if they were own and read his thoughts. It had felt as if someone had been pressed against his side, breathing down his neck. Surely that had some sort of strange effect on his brain? Two people weren’t meant to occupy the same headspace.

But… was that really the explanation? It had been intrusive, sure, but… How was having Patroclus see through his eyes the same as wanting to kiss him? 

No, Achilles didn’t want to kiss him! Something was just off, that was all.

Even as he talks himself down from the rush of his dream, Achilles reaches up and touches a finger to his lips gently. His stomach feels as if there’s a stone lodged in the bottom, his fear materializing into something unsettling. He was scared, but of what? Of liking Patroclus that way? 

It wouldn’t be so bad… would it? 

Wait… What was he thinking? Yes it would.

Achilles covers his face with his pillow and groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO sorry this is so late!! i had the absolute worst time writing this chapter with the combination of school and writer's block. it just did not want to come out of my brain ;_; thank you guys for sticking with me!!
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kenzsza/), [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/kenzsza/), or [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kenzsza) for updates or just for fun :)


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